


It's Always Sunny in Storybrooke!

by zoe19blink



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-05-10 17:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 71
Words: 298,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5595289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoe19blink/pseuds/zoe19blink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HUMOR AHEAD! This is an AUish sort of thing, if all the drama had stopped when everyone got back from Neverland and just lived in Storybrooke, chilling out together.<br/>It has been two years since Emma, Neal, David, Snow, Henry, Rumple, Regina, and Hook returned from Neverland. However, when they defeated Pan, they literally defeated him and they didn’t have to worry about silly plot twists that would once again separate the adorableness of the Storybrooke families/ friendships. Tink has managed to get Regina and Robin together, Ruby is actually here, and things have settled into a normalish sort of routine.<br/>ENDGAME SHIPS: Neal/ Emma; Hook/ Ruby; David/ Snow; Rumple/ Belle; the rest are undecided. <br/>Should be noted: Captain Swan are frenemies, and honestly, both of them care a lot more for Neal than each other. Neal and Hook start out as more frenemies than friends, but they're actually very dedicated brosephs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Belle blearily looked around. Something had woken her up, she just wasn’t sure what. She tugged at the blanket in annoyance.

“Rumple, stop being such a blanket hog,” she complained sleepily. Rumple mumbled something about bears and buried himself further into the blanket. 

An insistent knocking came from downstairs. Belle gritted her teeth as she swung her legs out of bed and pulled on her robe. Who would be making house calls at—she checked the clock— _nine thirty? Is that it?_ Being married to someone considerably older than her was starting to show its drawbacks.

The shadowy figure in the doorway pounded again, more urgently this time. “All _right,_ ” she crossly, swinging the door open. Hook stood on her porch, wearing his kicked-puppy expression. His eyes were unusually shiny and his bottom lip was trembling ever so slightly. Belle slumped against the doorway sympathetically.

“Oh, honey…what happened?”

“I, uh…” He frowned with the effort of holding back tears, listlessly bumping his fist against his leg.  “I think Emma just broke up with me.”

“Oh, _honey_ ,” she repeated sadly, opening the door wider for him. “I’ll make us some tea.”

 

* * * * * *

 

 

“Tell me what happened,” Belle said, setting the tray down. She sat down on the couch next to Hook and started pouring tea into two cups.

“Well,” he said shakily, still not allowing himself to shed his tears, “we were at Granny’s today. She showed me something called ‘meatloaf’. I didn’t like it much, but after that… it was nice. I was making jokes, she was laughing…” He shrugged. “I thought things were going well. And lately, we’ve been spending lot more time together than usual , so I thought—oh, thank you. Two sugars?” he interrupted himself as she handed him his tea.

“Two sugars,” she nodded.

Hook took a careful sip. “Thank you,” he said politely.

Belle smiled. “So… you’ve been spending more time together…?”

“Right, so we’ve been spending so much more time together, so I thought it was a good time to ask when she wanted me to move in—“

Belle choked on her tea. “You what?”

“I asked when she wanted me to move in,” Hook repeated patiently. 

Belle closed her eyes exasperatedly. “Oh, my God,” she sighed, her head falling into her hands. 

“Was…was that wrong?” Hook sounded confused. “Should I not have done that?”

“Ooh, you really shouldn’t have,” she said, shaking her head emphatically.

“Oh…”

 Belle slowly lifted her head. Hook watched her, looking so helpless and lost, it broke her heart. 

_But she had to tell him._

“Hook,” she said gently, “you know… you have a tendency to come on a little strong.”

“I—?” He cocked his head, surprised. “Really?”

“So strong,” she said, shaking her head.

“But…”He frowned, struggling with the words. “I mean, we’re soulmates … and stuff.”

“Well, okay, let’s—let’s take it easy with the….soulmates,” Belle said hesitantly.  Hook looked confused.

“But we are,” he insisted. “I’m positive.”

“Mmm…really? You sure?” Belle said, scrunching her face up dubiously. “I mean—how long have you guys even been dating?”

Hook blinked. “Oh,” he said finally. “Oh, that.” He scratched his nose. “Uh, we haven’t… exactly…er…done that whole—“he waved his hand—“dating…thing…per se.”

Belle’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m sorry?”

Hook sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. “Look, Belle, I’m really upset right now. Can’t we just get drink away my sorrows and talk about what a bitch Emma is?”

“ _What do you mean, you haven’t done the dating thing_?” she shrieked. “Are you _kidding_ me? You haven’t even asked her out and you want to _move into her apartment_? What is wrong with you, y-y-you—you damaged little freak, you?”

Hook’s mouth dropped open. “I beg your pardon?” he said in an injured tone, putting his hand to his heart.

“What did you _think_ was going to happen?” she said wildly, standing up. 

“Well, I _thought_ she was going to say, ‘any time you want, Hook’, but I _guess_ I was _wrong!_ ” he retorted angrily.

“You are such an idiot _—_ “

“Watch the attitude, Thumbelina—“

“Thumbelina? Really? REALLY?”

“DID I STUTTER?“

“Hey, hey, HEY!” Rumple shouted from the top of the stairs. Belle and Hook looked at him, catching their breath. He looked back incredulously, slightly shaking his head. “Shut up!”

Belle and Hook exchanged a look as Rumple pattered down the stairs and into the kitchen. They stared after him as he fixed himself a bowl of cereal, shuffled back in the room, and sat down in his armchair. “Now,” he said, spooning Bran Flakes into his mouth, “what’s all the yelling for?”

The other two slowly sat down, both waiting for the other to speak. Belle nudged Hook; he frowned and elbowed her back.

“It’s your story,” she muttered.

“You started yelling first,” he muttered back.

Rumple crunched his cereal, eyebrows raised as he looked between the two of them. “Come on,” he prodded, waving his spoon.

Belle slit her eyes at Hook, who kept his eyes stubbornly fixed on the coffee table. “Emma dumped him,” she said bluntly.

Rumple, having just taken another bite, widened his eyes. Hook sputtered, throwing his arms up indignantly.

“That is _not_ true!” he said. Belle gave him a withering look. “It’s not!” he insisted.

“You literally said ten minutes ago, ‘I think Emma just broke up with me.’”

“Yes, _think_!” Hook emphasized. “I _think_ she just broke up with me. Not positive! I _think_ she did. _You_ never let me finish the story,” he added, pointing an accusing finger at her.

“What happened?” Rumple asked interestedly, chasing a raisin with his spoon.

“Oh, nothing big. Not really,” Belle shrugged. “He just asked Emma if he could move in.”

“Oh, shit,” Rumple snorted. Belle smiled humorlessly, nodding her head.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, her smile more a grimace now. “And here’s the best part—they’re not even dating yet!”

Rumple’s eyebrows shot up. Slowly, he put the spoon down and turned his head to stare wide-eyed at Hook. “Wow,” he said at last. An evil grin spread on his face. “She give you the old heave-ho in public?”

“I don’t have to take this,” Hook said, standing up and moving toward the door. 

“Oh, don’t _go_!” Rumple called after him, laughing. “What? I’m kidding!”

The door slammed. The smile faded ever so slightly from Rumple’s face as he bemusedly turned back to Belle. He pointed his spoon at the door. “What’s wrong with him?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Ruby stifled a yawn as she wiped the counter for the tenth time. It was a slow night, and getting late, but there were still a few stray customers left in the diner. She didn’t want to discourage them from giving good tips, so she simply smiled at them and asked if they needed anything. 

“ _No, thank you_ ,” some said, and she would shrug cheerfully and say, “ _Let me know_!”

“ _Yes_ ,” others would say. “ _Could I get a—?_ “  

“ _Oh, my God, it’s ten-thirty, you do not need another refill!_ ” she would say loudly, and stalk away. x

She was exhausted. She _hated_ closing, but if she didn’t close tonight, she’d have to close tomorrow, and she couldn’t close tomorrow because Billy had finally asked her out and she had said yes, because they were going to a concert with his friend Jason, who she was _really_ interested in, even though he was dating the girl from the drugstore, which she didn’t get at _all_ , because the drugstore girl was so _boring—_

The bell tinkled as another late customer came in. Ruby groaned, tilting her head back. 

The stool at the corner scraped as the customer sat down. “Rum and Coke, hold the Coke. And keep them coming,” Hook said miserably. Ruby nodded and turned to pull a shot glass out. “Wait!” he said suddenly, holding up a hand. She turned, raising her eyebrows inquisitively. Hook dropped his hand. “Rum and Coke, _don’t_ hold the Coke,” he  sighed. “But _do_ keep them coming.”

Ruby exhaled heavily, so he would know he was doing her a great inconvenience. The first few times Hook had walked into Granny’s diner, Ruby had been _more_ than willing to pour him a drink….or five. But her enthusiasm had slowly died over time as she learned two very important things about Hook: 1) Emma had him wrapped around her little finger, and 2) drunk Hook was not necessarily fun Hook. 

Working the bar, Ruby had come to learn there were several types of drinkers: happy drunks, angry drunks, and sad drunks. Happy drunks—like herself—were the best kind. They were fun, if over-affectionate, _very_ complimentary, and tipped well. Angry drunks—such as Belle—were considerably less pleasant, spouting insults and throwing drinks and glasses when things got _really_ bad. And then there were sad drunks. Sad drunks would sob uncontrollably at times, and shout incoherently at others. They would tell random stories that were _long_ (oh, so very very long), but she had to stay there and listen to them, or they could very easily turn into angry drunks. 

She still wasn’t sure what kind of drunk Hook was. She had seen him behaving like a happy drunk before, but more than once she’d had to call Emma to haul him away in handcuffs when he started throwing darts at people. And yet, there had been plenty of times when she’d stayed up till the wee hours of the morning, listening to him spin tales of people she’d never heard of, let alone cared about. 

Ruby pushed his drink toward him. “There you go,” she said lightly. Hook swooped it up and drained it in one quick motion. 

“Another!” he demanded, slamming the glass down. 

Ruby looked sideways at the nearly empty rum bottle. Pretty soon, his rum-and-Coke was going to be…Coke. She shrugged. She didn’t have to tell _him_ that. “Coming up,” she said cheerfully. 

Hook drained the second as quickly as the first. “And give me another one!” he said as he slammed the glass down again.

Ruby used up the last of the rum on the fourth shot. But that didn’t stop Hook from ordering a fifth…and a sixth… and a seventh…and an eighth—Christ, how long was it going to be before he realized he wasn’t actually getting any drunker?

Interestingly enough, though, Hook _thinking_ he was getting drunker was enough to make him act drunker. After his tenth shot of Coke, he started talking.

“Ruby…” he slurred. “Ruby, Ruby, Ruby…”

“Hmm?”

Hook smiled and pointed a wobbly finger at her. “I _like_ you, Ruby.”

“Yeah?” she smiled, refilling his glass. Hook closed his eyes and nodded emphatically.

“You’re like….you’re my favoritest person… like, _ever._ Like of all the people I know…you’re my favorite— oh, _good_ , more rum, I like rum, rum is good,” he laughed to himself, greedily gulping down his Coke. He pushed the glass toward her. “Go on, fill ‘er up.”

“Another one?” she gasped mockingly. Hook was too fake-drunk to notice; he pounded the counter with his fist.

“More RUM!” he yelled, earning a few annoyed looks. Leroy glared at him from down the counter.

“Hey, Captain Covergirl,” he growled, “keep it down.”

Hook whirled around and launched his glass at Leroy, who ducked and fell off his stool. Fuming, he pushed himself up from the floor, folding his hand into a fist.

“You wanna go?” he challenged. “YOU WANNA GO?”

“No bar-fights,” Ruby said in a bored voice, doodling on a napkin. Hook staggered off his stool, raising his hook above his head.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he slurred, swaying dangerously. “I’ve fought many a leprechaun in the jungles of… some place or other.”

“Leprechaun?” Leroy repeated angrily. “I’m a _dwarf_!”

“Oh, Leroy, like anybody cares,” Ruby said exasperatedly. “Now both of you sit down—or I’ll call Emma.”

“Yes! Do that!” Hook swung around, pointing his finger at her. “Call Emma! We need Emma! I need Emma! And rum,” he added thoughtfully, retaking his seat. “I also need rum.”

Ruby tapped her fingers on the counter indecisively. “Okay, but you have to pay for your drinks first,” she said finally. Every time Hook was escorted away in handcuffs, Ruby had to ask Emma to pay his bill, which she _hated_ doing because Emma could get out of it by saying, “Sure, of course. By the way, Ruby, how are those parking tickets coming along?”

“Pay for my drinks?” Hook blinked several times in confusion. “But I’m _pretty._ ”

She sighed. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

Emma wearily pulled up to Granny’s. She looked at the entrance for a moment, then leaned her head against the steering wheel. Most of the time, she didn’t mind Hook. He could be fun, if over-friendly at times. He was a pretty nice guy, once you got past all his awkward. And sometimes, he was really funny…Henry wasn’t allowed to be present for those moments, but she, Neal, and Hook had shared a lot of laughs over Hook’s swashbuckling days.

But then nights like tonight and earlier-tonight happened, and she was vividly reminded of everything wrong with him: he was overemotional; obnoxious; extremely childish, even though his PG-13 humor came uncomfortably close to an R-rating. He insisted that she was his true love, even though he made his feelings about Jennifer Lopez very clear. And, perhaps worst of all, Hook had no sense whatsoever of _boundaries._ He didn’t seem understand that there were certain things that you avoided talking about in a relationship as confused and undefined as theirs. For example, he was completely bewildered when she nearly choked after he told her he loved her the first time (it was during a coffee break). And then there was the time he’d casually said, “I’d die fighting for you. By the way, is this anyone’s bagel?”

 Emma reluctantly got out of the car and started up the steps. She took a deep breath, bracing herself, before turning the handle and walking in.

“Hey, Ruby,” she said, looking toward the bar. There was Hook, slumped over the counter, tracing the rim of his empty shot glass with his finger. Ruby sleepily lifted her head at the sound of her voice. She nudged Hook, who looked around, saw Emma, and put his head back down, glaring at the counter.

“Hey, Hook,” Emma said, cautiously pulling out the stool next to him. She put a hesitant hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“No. No, I’m not, actually,” he said, unnervingly calm as he straightened and turned to face her. “You hate me,” he said simply.

Emma looked at him with exasperation and pity. “Hook,” she began, shaking her head, “I don’t—“

“You hate me,” he repeated, louder. Emma glanced at his shot glass, and looked at Ruby.

“How many has he had?”

“How many has he had, or how many does he _think_ he had?”

Emma looked back at Hook, who was now frowning at the emptiness of his glass, turning it upside down and shaking it. “Never mind.” 

“This is his bill,” Ruby yawned, pushing a slip of paper toward Emma. “See if you can get him to pay it.”

Emma tried to catch his eye. “Hook?” 

He frowned, shrugging away her hand. Emma narrowed her eyes.

“Hook,” she said more sternly. “Can you pay your bill, or do you need me to get this one?”

He exhaled impatiently. “I don’t need you to do anything for me, _Emma_.” He directed his attention at Ruby. “I don’t have any money on me at the moment, but I can bring it by tomorrow. Is that all right?”

Ruby sighed. “Fine.” She gave him a piece of paper and a pen. “Write me an I.O.U.”

Hook obediently scribbled the words onto the paper, signing _Killian Jones_ with a flourish. “And here,” he said, scrawling a _3_ next to his name, “is my number.” 

Ruby looked at Emma in confusion, who just shook her head. “He’s trying to make me jealous,” she explained. 

“Jealous?” Hook slurred, swaying on his stool. “Don’t be ri _lic_ udous…”

“Ridiculous.”

“That’s what I said,” he scoffed. 

“Okay,” Emma said, getting up. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Bed?” he repeated blearily, as she tugged him impatiently of the stool. “You haven’t even bought me dinner…”

Emma closed her eyes with the effort of keeping her temper. “What’s his room number?” she asked Ruby, struggling to hold Hook in a standing position. Ruby shrugged.

“How should I know?”

Emma looked at her incredulously. “It’s _your_ inn!”

“Uh, _no_ , it’s Granny’s.”

“Can’t you check the book or something?”

Ruby rolled her eyes and heaved a heavy sigh, as if Emma had just asked her for an impossibly big favor. _“_ Oh, my God, _fine…_ ” 

 

* * *

 

 

Neal was sitting on his bed, flipping through a magazine, when he heard the sounds of feet half-shuffling, half-stumbling down the hall. “God _damn_ it, Hook!” he heard Emma’s voice say, and he frowned suspiciously. Why was Emma…why was Hook…?

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” he muttered angrily, throwing down the magazine and swinging out of of bed. “No, no, no, no, no. No. No. Not happening. Not. Happening.”

Neal opened the door, and leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “AHEM.”

Emma looked up, struggling under the weight of a clearly drunk Hook. “Neal!” she said in relief. “Help me, would you? I can’t…” she gave him an impatient tug as his head lolled back. “Please?” she said desperately. 

Neal reluctantly went over, draping Hook’s other arm around his shoulder, exhaling impatiently as the pointy metal hook swung annoying close to his face. “Holy _shit_ ,” he cursed, staggering under his weight. “How is this even possible?”

“I think it’s his coat,” Emma said, peeking over at him with raised eyebrows. “Do you think we should—?”

“Yeah, put him down,” Neal said, and they unceremoniously let him drop to the floor. Hook frowned in discomfort as they bent his arms back, trying to tug the ridiculous coat off him.

“Stop…” he whined softly.

“Emma, hurry up!” Neal hissed. 

“I’m _trying!_ ” she snapped back. “His rings keep getting caught!”

“Just…here, switch with me.” They dropped Hook again and switched sides. Neal gave up trying to maneuver the bejeweled hand out of the sleeve, and yanked off the rings, which made it considerably easier to tug the coat off Hook’s right side. Emma was struggling with the left. 

“It’s the hook! I don’t know how to detach it!” she said defensively at Neal’s exasperated groan.

“Emma…”

“I’’m sorry!” she said in a loud whisper as he bent down to help her with the left sleeve.

“Just pull it.”

“I’m _pulling_.”

“Well, you’re not pulling hard enough—“

“Neal, I am doing the best I—“

“—pull harder—

“—it’s caught on the—“

“—just—“

“—don’t—“

“TEAR IT!” they shouted together, and with a loud _rip!_ , the hook sliced clean through the coat, leaving the sleeve in tatters. Emma’s hands clamped over her mouth as she stared down at it, her eyes wide in horror. 

“He’s going to kill us!” she squeaked.

“He’s not going to—“

“Neal, he’s going to kill us,” she said scoffingly, dropping her hands as she glared at him.

“Yeah, well…” Neal tried to quell the nervous feeling in his stomach, but he knew that tomorrow morning, when Hook woke up and saw the remains of his beloved coat, things would get ugly. Hell hath no fury like a Hook scorned.  “Let’s just get him into his room, we’ll worry about that tomorrow.”

Emma bit her lip worryingly, but helped Neal drag the now completely unconscious pirate into his room. She looked over at the bed, but Neal shook his head. “There is no way in hell I am _cradling_ Hook in my arms—“

“All _right!_ ” she said irritably. “At least give him a pillow.”

Neal took the pillow off the bed and tossed it so it landed on Hook’s face. He grinned at Emma sarcastically. “Mission accomplished.”

“Neal—“ Emma gritted her teeth and sat back on her heels to prop the pillow under his head. Neal watched with folded arms and clenched jaw. Emma glanced up at him. “ _Don’t_ give me that look.”

“I’m not giving a look.”

“You’re giving a look.”

“Fine,” he shrugged. “I’m giving a look.”

“Well, go easy on him,” Emma said, pushing herself into a standing position with a sigh. She looked down at their drunken sailor sadly. “He’s had a rough day.”

 _Good._ “Why, what happened?” Neal asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Emma side-eyed him warily. He raised his hands defensively. “Hey, I’m just trying to be supportive here.” _Because that’s me, being awesome._

“I shouldn’t—“ she began, shaking her head, but Neal interrupted her with a laugh.

“Emma, it’s _me_.” ( _Work that grin, Cassidy, work it!_ he ordered himself). “Come on, we’ll just go grab a coffee, take a walk… and you can just vent till you’ve got everything off your chest.” ( _Take her hand—softly, SOFTLY…there you go._ ) “Come on.”

Emma smiled tiredly, and allowed Neal to lead her downstairs. A furious Ruby, who had _just_ been about to shut everything down, slammed two coffee cups on the counter, and practically ran them out the door. 

“She is _not_ in a good mood,” Neal remarked, looking over his shoulder. Emma shrugged, sipping her coffee. 

“She’s upset. There’s this guy she likes—“

“Jason. And he’s going out with the drugstore-whore,” Neal nodded wearily, having heard the story from Ruby four times already. Emma raised her eyebrows.

“Ah, but did you know that Billy totally asked her out to a concert, and now she’s got a chance to see if Jason, like, _like-_ likes her?”

“Yeah, but that skank is going to be, like, breathing down their necks. I mean, F. Her. L.”

They broke off into laughter. Sure, it was a cheap shot, but making fun of Ruby was just _so_ much fun.

“So, uh…”Neal looked at her sideways. “What happened with Pirate Pete today?”

Emma looked back, unimpressed. “‘Pirate Pete’? That’s what you’re going with?”

“I’m running out of derogatory nicknames,” he shrugged.

Emma rolled her eyes, but good-naturedly. “Well,” she said, tapping her fingers on the cup. “You know how Hook is…” She took a sip. “Over-eager.”

Neal choked. “I’m not sure I want to hear the rest of this story.”

“ _Neal_ ,” Emma whined. “Why do you always have to make it weirder than it is?”

“Well, if you say—“ he put on a mockingly sultry voice—“ _over-eager_ —“

“Oh, my _GOD,_ would you stop?” she complained, hitting him as he started laughing. “Neal, come on, don’t!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” he agreed. 

She ruefully smiled at him, but continued. “So we’re at the diner. Talking about…I don’t know, cereal—“

“ _Cereal…_ ”

“Neal.”

“I’ll stop.”

Emma took a breath. “We’re talking about cereal… Everything’s fine, everything’s nice, normal. Just not….weird.”

“Okay…” Neal nodded slowly. “Go on.”

“And then  out of nowhere, he says, ‘So, Emma, when do you want me to move in?’”

Neal spit out his coffee.

“I mean, what do you say to that?” Emma said, throwing her hands up. “Anyone else, and I’d have…” She trailed off and tilted her head back, groaning. “I feel bad, ‘cause….you know, he’s still adjusting…and he doesn’t really have many friends here…or in general. But still, _he’s got to learn sometime, doesn’t he_?”

“Hey, I’m with you. I mean, if he’s going to live in this world, he’s got to learn how it works.” Neal was thankful for the darkness, so Emma couldn’t see him fight the triumphant smile on his face. “So…what’d you say?”

Emma gave him a look. “What do you _think_ I said?” she said witheringly as he snorted into his coffee. “I tried to let him down as easy as possible, but you know how he is… I said, ‘Actually, I think it might be better if we just hold off on that for a while, okay?’ And now he thinks I hate him.”

“Meh…” Neal shrugged dismissively. “He’ll get over it.”

“Will he?” Emma said worriedly as they sat down on a bench. She curled her knees to her chest, nervously twirling the leather cord around her wrist. Neal frowned at it. _The hell is that thing?_ He didn’t remember giving Emma anything like that. Was it from Hook? Somehow, he doubted it. It just…wasn’t his style.

“…really do like him, though,” Emma was saying wistfully. “He can be a real sweetheart, you know?”

“Uh… yeah.” Neal blinked a few times, then smiled through clenched teeth. “Yeah, he’s a sweetie.” _Now say something bad about him._

“And really romantic…”

“Oh, so romantic.” _He’s an idiot. He’s a pompous moron._

“And, oh. My. _God,_ is he hot.”

Neal scratched the back of his neck. “Well, that—that’s one way to put it.” _He’s a manwhore._

“No. Neal. You don’t understand. I mean, he is _hot._ ”

“Total dreamboat.” _Probably has more STDs than_ Game of Thrones.

“Like, personally-responsible-for-global-warming-hot—“

“Okay, I got it!” he said loudly.

 _“_ But….” Emma sighed with her whole body. “He’s just so…. _emotional._ ”

“There it is,” Neal said under his breath.

“He just—“ Emma waved her hands, searching for words—“ _FEELS._ ”

“I know.”

“He just _feels_!” she repeated, dropping her hands. “He feels SO much. All the time! H-h-he never stops _feeling_ , not for a minute!”

“I know.”

“I mean, I care about him,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “He’s still a good guy. He’s still my friend.”

“But?”

Emma looked at him wearily. “He’s _smothering_ ,” she moaned. “He comes after me with these _speeches_ a-a-and these _gestures_ and these—these _vows_ and _oaths_ and—“ she covered her eyes exasperatedly—“and these declarations of undying love _…”_

Neal coughed. “Wow. That’s,uh… that’s pretty intense.” He raised his eyebrows, fighting the laughter in his throat. “Undying love.”

“But I mean, day after day after _day!” s_ he complained. “It’s always ’ _Emma, I’m going to fight for you’_ , and _’Emma, I’m going to win your heart’….’Emma, I will never stop thinking of you’._ And I’m just like…’ _Hook. I know. You told me fifteen times.’”_

“He’s very…” Neal had to bite down on his knuckle to stifle the laughter. “He’s very determined, isn’t he?” he finished in a strained voice. 

“It’s not funny.”Emma carefully avoided looking at him, her mouth twitching as she fought to keep a straight face.

“Mmm,” he managed, pressing his hand hard against his mouth. Uncontrollable laughter threatened to spill out, forcing him to turn his head and fixate on something in the distance. 

“I should go,” Emma said finally, clearly swallowing her own laughter.

“Yeah, take care,” he squeaked, tears leaking from his eyes. Neal waited until the sound of Emma’s boots had disappeared before collapsing into laughter.


	3. Chapter 3

Hook blearily opened his eyes, raising a hand against the offensive rays of sunlight that had the audacity to shine right in his face. He looked around himself, puzzled: why was he lying on the floor? Usually when he woke up there, it was because the night before he was too drunk to remember how to get into bed. But his head wasn’t pounding the way it usually did when he was hungover. In fact, he felt surprisingly well rested, for sleeping on the floor.

Maybe the pillow had helped. Hook frowned, pulling it out from under his head, and stared at it. Had he done that? It seemed odd: if he’d bothered to make himself comfortable, wouldn’t he have just slept in his bed? 

He raised his left arm against the obtrusive sunlight…hold on, why was he still wearing his hook? No matter how drunk he got, he _always_ remembered to remove it. Hook knew himself, and he wasn’t too proud to admit he was a restless sleeper. If he started waving his arms around in his sleep, he could very well scratch up that pretty face, and he wouldn’t be able to get out of half the things he did.

And then he saw something that made his heart drop.

His sleeve.

Was.

_Gone._

* * * * * *

There is a quaint little town in Maine, where everyone knows everyone. Each day, the sun rises to give warmth to the crisp cool air. The sky softens to a pale, but unmistakeable blue. Birds chirp, serenading the early risers as they start their day, nodding _Good mornings_ ’s to each other. 

Today is like any other day. The townsfolk are awake, cheerfully preparing for the day ahead. The breeze weaves in and out of windows, delicately fogging the windows. The birds sing greetings to each other as the sun rises to bring light to the world.

And then a scream shatters the silence. Hell has come to Storybrooke.

 

* * * * * *

“NEAL!” Hook pounded on the door, struggling to breathe through his fury. He’d been less upset when his brother had died. Briefly, he wondered if that made him a bad person (he was leaning toward “yes”), but then the door opened and he could only think about the fact that some monster had _destroyed_ his beautiful coat.

Neal looked far too innocent and surprised for Hook to believe he was either. “Hey, buddy,” he yawned. “What’s up?”

Hook shoved the coat in his face. “What’s _up_?” he hissed. He strode into the room, forcefully enough to make Neal stumble back. “WHAT’S UP?”

Neal tried a nervous smile. “So you saw the coat.”

“ _Yes, I saw the coat._ ”

“And you’re clearly upset.”

“ _Yes, I am upset._ ”

Neal nodded. “Well,” he said finally, clearing his throat, “just so you know…”

Hook glared at him. Neal seemed to be gathering his courage.

“It was Emma’s fault,” he said quickly, throwing the coat back. Hook stared down at it, breathing unevenly. Slowly, he raised his eyes. Neal must have seen the rage in them because he met his gaze for a brief moment—then flicked his eyes to the side, and back. Hook knew what he was going to do and lunged forward, but Neal darted out of the way and raced for the door. Hook caught him around the ankle, and he dropped like a stone.

“YOU’RE DEAD, CASSIDY!”

“NO! GET _OFF!_ ”

“YOU’VE KILLED IT!”

“IT’S A COAT, GET OVER IT!”

“I WILL HAVE VENGEANCE!”

“NOBODY TALKS LIKE THAT, YOU _IDIOT!”_

For a few minutes, there was nothing but the sounds of struggle, incoherent threats, and Neal’s gasps as Hook tried to pierce a hole in his eye. “Okay, stop it, stop it— STOP IT!” he shouted, pushing Hook off. They glared at each other, catching their breath, until Neal held up a hand, still panting. “Look…killing each other isn’t going to fix anything.”

“Are we sure about that?” Hook raised an eyebrow menacingly. He had a fairly extensive range of eyebrow-raises in his repertoire: the height of the raise, degree of the arch, and the angle direction were all important variables that combined to create anything from full-on slutty to _I-shall-feast-on-your-bloodied-corpse._

“And maybe…” Neal looked at him cautiously. “Maybe this is a good thing—now, don’t get mad!” he scrambled as Hook’s eyes widened in rage. “Calm down…breathe…breathe…”

“I’m breathing.”

“No, you’re not breathing,”Neal said impatiently. “You’re turning purple.”

Hook forced himself to breath normally. Neal waited and, apparently deciding he had reached a normal-enough color, resumed. “Maybe it’s time you settled into this world a little more, you know?”

“I _have_. Neal, I own a _talking phone._ ”

Neal closed his eyes exasperated. “Okay, _again_ ,” he said, struggling for patience, “it’s just called a phone.”

Hook rolled his eyes. How utterly ridiculous.

“You’ve made progress,” Neal allowed. “You’re starting to get the hang of that phone…you haven’t stabbed any more T.V.’s…”

“Those are the…?”

“You called them ‘demon pictures’.”

“Oh, right.”

“And,” Neal continued, “you’ve been surprisingly accepting of microwaves.”

 _Microwaves…_ The first time Emma had introduced the curious little box to him, he’d been rendered speechless. She’d tugged at the little door, and it was instantly flooded with light. Hook had spent twenty minutes opening and closing it, transfixed by the light that disappeared and reappeared without fail. And then after she had showed him how it actually _cooked food_ , she spent a week trying to convince him not to worry about the price of magic every time he wanted a Hot Pocket.

“Like I said, Neal, I’ve more than settled into this world.”

“But…” Neal trailed off cautiously. Hook narrowed his eyes.

“Go on.”

“But…maybe it’s time you start dressing a little less _pirate-y._ ”

There was a puzzled silence. “A little less pirate-y,” Hook repeated.

“Yeah…”

“So, you’re asking _me_ —“ Hook raised his eyebrows, pointing to himself—“an _acknowledged pirate…_ to dress less pirate-y?”

“That’s right.”

Hook pinched his forefingers to the bridge of his nose. “I’m lost, again.”

“All right, get up.” Neal tugged him to a standing position. “I’ll get Belle to take you to Old Navy or something today. You can borrow one of my hoodies in the meantime.”

“Hoodie?” Hook creased his forehead. 

“One of these,” Neal explained, tugging on the hood of his shirt. Hook sighed exasperatedly. 

 “I don’t need a hood, Neal, I need a coat.”

Neal blinked a few times. “The hood is attached to the coat,” he said quietly. Hook raised his eyebrows in dawning comprehension. 

“ _Oh…_ ”

Neal bent down to rummage through his suitcase. “Here,” he said, tossing something over his shoulder. Startled, Hook caught it and looked down. 

“It’s red!”he said, looking up indignantly. Neal raised his eyebrows.

“So…?”

“So, I don’t like red,” Hook said, tossing it back with a little more force than necessary. “I like black.”

“Well—“ Neal tossed it back, also forcefully—“I don’t _have_ black. I have red.”

“But _I_ —“ Hook smiled through clenched teeth as he passed it back—“don’t _like_ red.”

“Well, _that_ —“Neal threw it back—“really sucks for you, doesn’t it?”

For a moment, they eyed each other, testing the other’s will power. Hook raised his eyebrow; Neal twitched his eye. 

“Fine!” Hook relented finally. “My _God_ , you’re stubborn.”

 

* * *

 

 

Belle shot Hook a sideways glance as she started the car: he was wearing the familiar tense expression that appeared every time he rode in “the metal beast”.  For once, though, she was as tense as he was in the car. There was something unnerving about seeing Hook in modern clothes. It just seemed… _wrong._

Honestly, the entire morning had seemed wrong. Neal’s voicemail hadn’t seemed real, and she had been convinced it was an elaborate prank—right up until the minute she’d pulled up to Granny’s and an extremely unhappy Hook sat on the steps, glaring at the road. 

Ruby had been too stunned to press him for the I.O.U. money from his late-night binge-drinking, but that had done little to cheer him up. He regarded the hoodie with a strangely intense hatred, as though it had personally offended him. Even as they pulled into the parking lot, he glared down at it, still squirming against the foreign fabric.

“We’re here,” Belle said, looking at him cautiously. Hook shook his head.

“I can’t be seen like this,” he muttered.

She sighed. “Everyone dresses like this. You have to cooperate, sooner or later.”

“Why?” he said petulantly. 

“Killian Jones,” she said sternly, and he flinched at the sound of his full name, “you are a grown man. Stop. _Whining._ ”

He fumed silently, glaring at his folded arms. 

“Now stop stamping your little feet, and walk them into that store, so we can find something that doesn’t look so damn silly.” Belle slammed the car door shut and walked around to Hook’s side, yanking it open. She cleared her throat; he didn’t budge. Belle raised her eyebrows. She cleared her throat again, more deliberately this time. He squeezed his eyes shut, muttering curses.

“Fine!” He swung himself out of the car, gritting his teeth. Belle tried to keep up with his furious strides, but her heels slowed her down too much. She was forced to scurry forward on tiptoe, her feet cramping against the narrow tips of her shoes. 

Hook stomped all the way up to the entrance…until a very pretty girl walked out, bags hanging from her hands. _Oh, for the love of God,_ Belle thought, rolling her eyes as he slowed considerably, straightening up. She caught up to them as he flashed a smile, “shyly” ruffling his own hair. Just as he extended his arm to take one of the bags, Belle hooked her own elbow around it and whirled him inside.

“ _Belle!_ ” he sputtered, nearly tripping over her. 

“What?” she said innocently, wincing against her aching feet. 

Hook looked behind them hopefully, but the girl was already gone. “Damn it,” he muttered. Belle made an exasperated sound and dragged him away.

The further they walked, the slower Hook went, pausing to stare open-mouthed at pretty much everything (she had to steer him in the opposite direction of the “women’s delicates” section). Belle released her hold on him at the men’s department. 

“Now,” she said, clapping her hands together. “This is your chance to try something _completely_ different, so why don’t we try to avoid—goddamn it,“ she  muttered as Hook walked straight toward the leather jacket she’d hoped he wouldn’t see. He grabbed it off the rack and turned around.

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Hook,” she said warningly, seizing his arm as he moved to walk past her. Hook rolled his eyes as though he were exchanging an exasperated look with the Almighty Himself.

“Yes, Belle?”

“Don’t you want to look around a little?” she wheedled. “Maybe find something else?” Hook stared at her incredulously.

“Belle,” he said slowly, “I don’t think you understand.” He held the jacket up. “I just found my soulmate.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Your…soulmate.”

“My _soulmate_ ,” he repeated emphatically. 

“But it’s….” She shook her head, a scoffing smile on her face. “I mean, it’s a _jacket._ ”

“No. You don’t understand.” Hook looked at her intensely, as if to emphasize the enormity of the situation. “An hour ago, there was only one thing in this world that I thought would always be true. Even if the stars fell from Heaven, and Hell lifted through the earth, it would remain unchanged. Nothing—not destiny, not fate, not the gods themselves— could change this…that I loved Emma Swan more than anything I had ever loved before, or ever would again.” He dropped his gaze to the jacket, then back to Belle, something close to desperation in his eyes as he held it closer to his chest. “ _I was wrong._ ”

Belle blinked several times. Hook stared back, searching her face for a sign of understanding. Belle glanced at the jacket, then slowly raised her eyes back to Hook’s.

“It’s a _jacket,_ ” she repeated. 

 

* * *

 

Emma tapped her pencil listlessly on her desk, bored out of her mind. She rested her head in her other hand, looking at the stack of paperwork in front of her, and sighed.

The clock ticked. 

Neal flipped a page. 

Leroy snored softly from within his cell. 

She glanced at Neal reading his magazine. He raised his cup. Took a sip. Swallowed… Set it back down. She looked over at Leroy. Back at Neal. Back at the clock.

Emma cleared her throat. “So…” Neal glanced up, raising his eyebrows. “S-so, is it…hand-kerchief, or hank-kerchief?”

Neal’s mouth opened uncertainly. “I’m sorry?”

“I, uh… I-I was just wondering if you knew if it was hand-kerchief or hank-kerchief,” she said awkwardly. 

Neal shook his head, eyebrows still raised bewilderedly. “I’m… not… sure.”

Emma nodded slowly. 

Neal blinked a few times, then went back to his magazine.

Leroy snored.

The clock ticked.

“What’s the difference between a pickle and a gherkin?”

Neal slowly raised his head to see Emma frowning at him. “I …don’t know that one, either.”

Emma inhaled, nodding her head again. “Right…” She blew out her breath slowly.

Neal flipped a page.

The clock ticked.

Leroy snored.

Emma tapped her pencil.

“So—“

“Sorry to interrupt, guys!”

Emma twisted in her seat at the sound of Hook’s voice and the door swinging open. It took her a minute to sort out why he was smiling so wide, or what it was that seemed jarringly different about him. But then she realized…

“Are you—?” she frowned, wondering if she was hallucinating. “Are you wearing… _jeans_?”

Hook beamed, looking immensely proud of himself. Belle walked in behind him, her steps slow and deliberate, clearly annoyed. Neal gave him a once-over, nodded approvingly with a “Huh”, and went back to his magazine. Emma stared at him open-mouthed, her eyes still squinted in suspicion. Hook raised his eyebrows, grinning.

“So….?” He spun around, showing off his new clothes the way a five-year-old shows off a picture they drew. “What do we think?”

“I think you’re wearing jeans,” she said, standing up to get a better look. It was bizarre, to say the least. She never thought she’d live long enough to see Hook part with the pirate coat; she’d half-expected him to continue walking around with whatever he could salvage  after they shredded it last night.

“Hell, _yeah_ , I am!” he said triumphantly. Belle folded her arms, unimpressed as she leaned against the doorframe.

“Yes, we’re all _so_ proud of you,” she drawled. “You’ve really branched out. Reinvented yourself. Become a changed man.”

“She hates my jacket,” Hook explained in a loud whisper, leaning closer to Emma. He glanced at Belle over his shoulder before adding, “I think she’s _jealous_.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it is,” Belle said witheringly. “I’m _jealous_ of your stupid jacket.”

“Oh, don’t be _upset._ ” Hook put his good arm around Belle, a wicked glint in his eye. “Come on, Belle… you’re still my _second_ favorite…”

“Get off,” she said in annoyance, trying to shrug him away as he laughed uproariously. Emma raised her eyebrows.

“I have _never_ seen you like this,” she said, still trying to process this new Hook. “You’re so…different.”

“Good different, I take it?” he winked. Emma twisted her mouth in a bemused smile. Who _was_ this guy? He _looked_ like Hook. He spoke with Hook’s voice. He wore Hook’s earring. He had Hook’s weirdly flexible eyebrows. But he wasn’t Hook. He couldn’t be. Hook was a tortured, angst-ridden pirate, perpetually on the verge of tears, alternating between bitter humor and tearful declarations of love. _This_ guy was just…something else entirely.

“Uh…sure,” she grinned, still not sure what to make of him. 

“And how about this jacket?” he asked, adjusting it in the reflection of the window.

Emma bit back her laughter. “You’re really pulling it off.”

“I _know,_ right?” he said in a hushed voice, apparently in awe of himself.

“Yes. You’re beautiful. We know,” Neal said loudly. Hook glanced at Neal and for a minute, Emma was afraid he was going to do what he usually did and toss out a biting retort that would end up sparking a battle. He surprised her by holding his hands in mock surrender.

“All right, point taken,” he smiled. Neal blinked rapidly, as if struggling to compute what just happened—or rather, what _didn’t_ happen. Emma stared, wondering if this was a dream after all. Even Belle’s jaw unhinged, forgetting her irritation to stare at the weirdly cheerful pirate. 

“So, listen,” Hook said, breaking them all out of their reverie. “I got to go. Got some things to take care of. So—“ he gave Emma half a hug—-“I’ll see you guys later—“ he fist-bumped Neal’s idle hand—“and call if you need me. I, uh—“ he laughed—“I can’t guarantee I’ll pick up, ‘cause I’m still working on remembering how to work the answering button. But if not, I’ll just see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“’Kay,” Emma said, still stunned. She raised her hand as he strolled out the door, humming under his breath. “‘Bye.”

All three stared after him, even as he disappeared down the hall and out the door. Slowly, Emma turned around to look at Neal. She jutted her thumb behind her.

“D’ you know that guy?”

Neal raised his eyebrows and slowly shook his head. “Never seen him before in my life,” he said, and turned back to his magazine.

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Order up!”

Ruby muttered under her breath as she stalked over to the counter to pick up Dr. Whale’s pancakes. Granny gave her a stern look over her spectacles, and mouthed, _Smile._ Ruby lifted the corners of her lips and showed her teeth, more of a grimace than anything, as she lifted the plate onto her tray, and sauntered back to Whale’s table.

Why he sat at a table every day was beyond her: it wasn’t like he had any _friends_ to sit with him. The doctor always sat alone, with only his “newspaper” (she was fairly certain he was hiding a PlayBoy in there) to keep him company. Ruby suspected he came every day, so he could leer at her, probably hoping she would flirt with him the way she did  with David and Jason and Neal and Jason and Hook and Jason and Billy and Jason and Sean and Jason—

“Thanks, Ruby,” Whale smiled as she set the plate down. “Hey, listen, I was thinking—“

“Awesome. Anything else? No? Great.” She walked away, tottering on her heels, and went to work on refilling the sugars at the counter. She flicked her mascara-heavy eyes at the corner table, where Sheriff Graham used to sit every morning and drink his coffee before heading for the station. Ruby concentrated on holding back the tears in her eyes, so those twenty minutes in front of the mirror that morning wouldn’t be wasted. She really missed Graham: she missed the way he smiled; the way he talked to little Henry so kindly when he thought no one was listening; the way his uniform fit…

Ruby smiled dreamily, not realizing that she was overfilling one of the sugar containers. She missed the way his hair curled around his too perfect face; the way his eyes managed to be innocent and extremely-not-innocent at the same time; the way he got drunk _so_ easily… And yet—she frowned indignantly—and yet, he hadn’t shown the _slightest_ interest in her! Ruby had put in countless hours at the gym so she could wear her tightest outfits around him, and all Graham could do was mope around, thinking about Emma. Ruby growled. _Emma._ It always came down to Emma! Every remotely hot guy in town went after Emma: Graham, Jefferson, Neal, Hook…Meanwhile, here Ruby was in _booty shorts_ , for God’s sake, and no one gave her a second glance!

“Ruby!” Granny said sharply, rapping on the counter. Ruby looked down at the mountain of sugar on the counter. 

 _“Shit!_ ” she  cursed under her breath. She looked for the dustpan or at least a towel—

“Order up!”

“Give me a second!” she said testily. _Towel, towel, towel…?_

 _“_ Can I get a refill?”

“Hang on!” she said through clenched teeth.  The voices rose, her own personal hell coming to life.

“Where’s my order?”

“Ruby, pay attention!”

“Where’s my check?”

“I asked for home-fries!”

“I ordered scrambled, not poached!”

“Where’s my refill?”

“I said, GIVE ME A SECOND!” she shouted. With a sweep of her arms, she knocked most of the sugar to the floor; then puffed out her cheeks and blew the remnants away, using the palm of her hand to wipe away whatever was left behind. She stomped over to the counter and filled her tray with plates.

“Here!” she snapped, slamming the plates down. 

“What about my—?”

“ _Yes, I know you want your home-fries!_ ” she hissed at the balding man as she shoved the check at the couple by the entrance. 

“My eggs—“

“What?” Ruby spun around, putting her hands on her hips. She glared at the woman who had been bitching at her for the past ten minutes. The woman pursed her lips.

“I asked for _scrambled_ , but you gave me—“

Ruby snatched her fork and mutilated the poached eggs. “Happy?” She threw the fork down and stalked over to the coffee machine to make refill rounds. She went around to every table, glowered at the customer, and—making it sound more like a threat than a question—snarled, “Refill?” 

Granny waited until the morning rush had died down before dragging Ruby into the back so she could lecture her.

“Listen, girly,” she said, glaring at her granddaughter. “This is a business establishment. I give you too much leeway as it is—“ she gave Ruby’s skimpy outfit a meaningful look of disgust—“so I suggest you get your act together.”

“Or what?” Ruby challenged, raising an eyebrow. “You going to fire me?”

Granny narrowed her eyes. “You don’t think I will?”

“Nope.”

“Ruby, believe me when I tell you that your only job security is me not wanting to hear about you dancing on tables, or hanging off of stripper poles—“

“OH, MY GOD!” Ruby covered her ears. “GRANNY, YOU ARE _NOT_ ALLOWED TO USE THE WORD ‘STRIPPER’ IN MY PRESENCE!”

“Ruby!” the old woman snapped, pulling her hands down. “I’m not kidding about this! You’re going to have to make some changes, or you can start looking for another way to pay for your… _outfits_.” Granny turned on her heel, leaving Ruby to stare after her, fuming.  “And you can forget about your concert tonight!”

Ruby’s jaw dropped. “Are you _kidding_ me?” she screeched, pounding after her. “Granny, you can’t do this to me! I’ve been waiting to go out with this guy for _months!_ ”

“Billy will understand—“

“Not Billy!” she cried exasperatedly. _“Jason!_ ”

“Well, you should have thought of that before you decided to sabotage my diner’s reputation.” Granny looked at her sternly over her spectacles. “I expect you back behind the counter in five minutes for the lunch shift with a _smile_ on your face.”

 

* * *

 

Whale glanced over at the counter as he entered the diner, smiling at Ruby. She was resting her cheek in one of her hands, glaring at the counter as she tapped her pen. 

“Hey, Ruby,” he said. She glanced up, rolling her eyes when she saw it was him.

“Back for lunch?”

Whale checked at her hostility. _Eeesshh._   But he shrugged, chuckling slightly. “Well… it _is_ lunchtime.”

She was not amused. 

Whale’s smile faltered. “I was just…uh…yeah, okay. Can I get a coffee?” He slid onto a stool as Ruby let out a heavy groan and trudged over to the coffee pot. “So…” he said, clearing his throat as she started to pour him a cup. “I’ve been meaning to ask you—“

The bell tinkled, and a horribly familiar voice filled the room. “Ruby, darling, I’m going to need two of those orange-colored bread things!”

Ruby looked up. “Oh, my God… _”_ She dropped her jaw, ignoring Whale’s yelp of pain as she overflowed the cup and poured scalding coffee on his hand. 

“ _Gah!_ ” Whale stared in horror at his blistering skin as Hook pulled out a stool.

“Ooh,” he said cheerfully, looking on with interest. “That’s a nasty one. You’ll want to get that looked at, mate.”

Whale struggled not to roll his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, turning to look over at him. “I’m sure I’d be lost without—“ _Oh._

So _that_ was why Ruby had just treated him to a round of coffee and second-degree burns: Hook had finally gone out and bought himself some normal-looking clothes. Somehow, Whale knew that this new development was going to be the topic of interest among his nurses, come Monday morning. _Great_ , he thought miserably. 

“Can I also have one of those…” Hook frowned, snapping his fingers. “I think it’s a beef…bread…thing?”

“You mean a hamburger?” Whale said dryly. Hook looked at him in surprise, then threw his head back and laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Yes, of _course !_ A _hamburger!_ ” he said, as if it were the most hilarious thing in the world that he should forget what a hamburger was. “Can I have a hamburger?”

Ruby beamed at him. “Honey, you can have whatever you want.” 

 _“Honey, you can have whatever you want,_ ” Whale mimicked under his breath. Hook watched her go, grinning in delight. 

“Ooh-hoo-hoo, she _likes_ me,” he chuckled, elbowing Whale. “Don’t you think?”

Whale smiled through clenched teeth, forcing a laugh. “Oh, I’ll bet.” _Asshole._

Ruby returned, carrying two bags. “Here are your—“ she smiled conspiratorially— _“orange-bread-things_ …”

“Thanks, love, “ Hook grinned, quirking an eyebrow. Whale rolled his eyes with his whole head.

“And your hamburger is still on the grill, so…” Ruby raised her eyebrows a few times. “You’re just going to have to wait a few minutes.”

“Oh. Well…” Hook leaned forward, arching an eyebrow. “At least I’ll have some company.” 

Ruby raised her eyebrows again, giggling. Whale rubbed his temple, staring at them dryly.

“You two training for the eyebrow Olympics?” he said finally, dropping his hand. “Or are you having a localized seizure?”

Hook laughed, sitting back in his seat, and clapped Whale on the shoulder again. “I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he muttered. 

Hook suddenly slapped the counter. “Nearly forgot,” he said, taking something from one of his inside pockets. “Here’s the money from my I.O.U—“ he dropped a drawstring of what sounded like heavy metal coins, and grinned apologetically. “I’m afraid I don’t know the exchange rate between my doubloons and your green paper.” 

Whale sourly watched Ruby prance away, drawstring in hand. _Somehow, I doubt that’s the first time she’s taken money for acting slutty._ He snorted as his own joke. _Snap! Whale, you’ve outdone yourself!_

“Here you go,” Ruby said, returning with the drawstring. Hook stowed it away in his pocket, glancing up when the cook called, “Order up!” Ruby didn’t budge; she just kept _smiling_ and _twirling her hair…_

Hood nodded toward the counter. “I think that’s mine, love.”

Ruby walked half-backwards, never taking her eyes off the pirate, to the counter. She took the plate—and promptly tossed the burger on the floor. “Oops,” she smiled. “I guess we’ll have to make you a new one.”

Whale raised his eyebrows as Hook let out a bemused chuckle. “ _Smooth_ , Ruby…”

Ruby apparently didn’t hear him. “So,” she said, propping her chin on her hands. “I hear you’ve been working at the sheriff’s station.”

Whale cleared his throat. “Hey, Ruby, how about a refill?”

“Sounds great,” she said, pushing an empty cup toward him, her eyes not leaving Hook’s. “You were saying?”

“Well, I don’t do much,” Hook said, with a shrug that implied he did very much indeed. “I’m a fair researcher, so I usually split my time between the station and the library…”

“I saved a life today,” Whale said loudly. “If anyone’s interested…”

“No one is. Wow, the _library,_ huh? That must be really interesting.” Ruby’s eyes sparkled. 

“Oh, very,” Hook nodded. “Belle is teaching me to bend those magic boxes to my will.”

“Magic…? Oh, you mean _computers_!” Ruby giggled.

“I know how to work an MRI machine,” Whale put in.

“So, uh—“ Ruby cleared her throat, looking down shyly—“h-how are things with you and Emma?”

“Things are great,” Whale shrugged. “Emma’s awesome.”

Ruby and Hook both turned to look him, Ruby irritated and Hook pitying.

“I think she was talking to me, mate,” he said quietly. Whale waved an apologetic hand.

“I’ll just blend back into the background. You two go on. Please.”

Hook turned back to Ruby. “I suppose I’ll love her to my dying day,” he shrugged, as casually as though they were discussing his grocery list. “But we’ve been trying the ‘just friends’ thing, and I have to say, it’s been working quite well for us.”

“Oh?” Ruby said, trying to not look too interested and failing epically. 

“I’m still not _entirely_ clear on what’s going on…”

Whale rubbed his eyes. How _long_ could it possibly take to grill a cheap burger?

“…don’t know what’s going on with her and Neal, but apparently, it’s none of my business,” Hook was saying, rolling his eyes. 

“Or mine,” Whale said, getting up. “I’ve got to get back to the hospital. You know. People dying,” he shrugged, stopping at the door. “Depending on me to save them. Whatever.” He waited, but they were too engrossed in each other to see him leave. Whale heaved a sigh and walked out the door, remembering a certain car accident from a few years ago.

Goddamn it. Why did he have to be such a good doctor?

 

* * *

 

Regina offered Dr. Whale a brisk, but polite nod as she walked up the diner’s steps. “Afternoon, Dr. Whale.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbled.

Regina’s eyebrows rose, but she didn’t reply. She pulled the door open and glanced around, looking for Robin. Of _course_ he wasn’t there—that would have required him to be punctual, for the first time in his life. 

She walked toward the counter, refraining from rolling her eyes at the sight of Ruby giggling over something Hook said (she had yet to hear the joke that would justify that much laughter). 

“Take care of yourself, love,” Hook said, getting up from the counter. Noticing Regina, his face split into a grin. “Ah! Regina! My favorite bloodthirsty queen!”

“Hook, my favorite herpes-infested pirate,” she said in a bored voice, barely registering his modern attire. “Ruby, I need two coffees. I’ll be sitting over there—“ she pointed at the same table she used every day, the second from the left next to the window—“and make sure Robin’s is decaf.”

“Psst, Regina,” Hook said, pausing at the door. Regina closed her eyes exasperatedly and slowly turned around.

“Yes?”

“What do you think?” he asked, tugging at his jacket proudly. Regina raised an eyebrow.

“I think your earring is silly,”she said disdainfully, and walked to her table. She sat down carefully, smoothing her skirt. “Any day now, Ruby,” she called, not looking up. 

Ruby came over just as the door clanged open and Robin rushed in looking around wildly. “Has anyone seen—?”

Regina cleared her throat. Robin’s head swiveled toward her, and he broke into a nervous smile.

“Ruby,” he nodded, sitting down just as she was leaving. “Regina, look—I know, I _know_ I’m late—“

“Yes, you are.” Regina carefully poured cream into her cup. Robin covered his eyes helplessly.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just Roland was giving me a hard time—“

“At five years of age, Henry was making his bed, dressing himself, and preparing his own breakfast.” Regina raised her eyebrows, regarding Robin coolly. “Your son can barely manage to feed himself.”

Robin looked at her, somewhat impatiently. “Are you breaking up with me, or Roland?”

“I’m not breaking up with anyone,” Regina said, dabbing her mouth. She put her cup down and fixed Robin with a stern look. “But we do need to talk.”

Robin gulped. 

“It’s Henry.”

“Henry?” Robin frowned, thinking. “Well, I don’t know what I did to Henry—“

“Robin, please.” Regina held up her hand. She frowned down at her cup before speaking. “He’s pulling away from me.”

Robin was silent for a moment. “I don’t follow.”

“He’s pulling away from me,” she repeated louder, enunciating every word. She held his gaze for a moment, then sighed tiredly, dropping her head in her hands. “I don’t know what’s going on with him, but he barely speaks to me anymore. He spends all his time in his room on his computer—he hasn’t picked up his book in _months._ ”

“His book?” Robin’s forehead creased. “As in, _the_ book?”

“ _The_ book,” Regina confirmed. “And I asked Emma about it, and she said he’s been acting weird with her, too.” She knit her brow in worry, looking out the window. “He won’t talk to me about it.”

Robin nodded slowly. “Well, Regina, I’m sorry, I know it must be difficult…but I’m confused. Is this my fault?”

Regina frowned in confusion. “How would this be your fault?”

Robin blinked. “I’m sorry, I just assumed—“

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “I just need you find out what’s going on with him for me.”

“You mean… spy on him.”

“Of course I mean spy on him!” Regina snapped. “He’s almost fifteen, who _knows_ what he’s doing? I just need you to weasel it out of him, then run back to me and report absolutely everything that happened!”

“Are—?” Robin shook his head. “Are you asking me to spend time with Henry… purely so I can violate his trust and tell you everything he confides in me?”

“No. I’m _telling_ you to spend time with Henry so you can violate his trust and tell me everything he confides in you.”  Regina picked up her purse and stood up, looking down at Robin. “I expect a full report by the end of the week.”

 

* * *

 

 

Tink looked over from her seat at the counter as Regina gathered her things, leaving Robin to stare worriedly out the window. She sighed heavily, and picked up her drink.

“Robin?” she said tentatively as she approached him. He looked up and smiled.

“Tink!”

“Oh—we don’t have to hug,” she said as he stood up. Robin’s smile faded slightly, but he didn’t look terribly offended as he took his seat.

“So…what can I do for you this fine day, milady?”

Tink cringed at the endearment. “Actually, Robin…” she began, but up close, she realized Robin probably had bigger worries than his outdated jargon. His smile looked strained, and he kept playing with the edge of his frayed scarf in a nervous gesture. “Never mind.”

He nodded absently. “Oh—Ruby,” he said, stopping the scantily clad waitress (who Tink had decided she did _not_ care for, especially after the way she had fawned over Neal the other night). “Could I trouble you for something stronger than this?” He indicated the coffee.

Ruby knit her eyebrows together. “You mean, like, full caffeine?”

Robin’s smile faded. “N-no, I…I meant, like _alcohol_.”

“Oh….” Ruby nodded slowly. 

Robin raised his eyebrows. “So…?”

Ruby blinked at him. “What?” she said. “I’m sorry, I was thinking about something else.”

“Bring the man a drink,” Tink said loudly. Ruby raised an eyebrow at her tone, but promised Robin she’d be back in a minute. Tink watched her go, rolling her eyes at Robin once she was out of sight. “She’s such a slut.”

Robin coughed, trying to hide a laugh. “Oh, Tink, that’s—“ he shook his head, pressing his hand to the corners of his mouth—“that’s terrible.”

“She _is!_ ” Tink insisted as he concentrated on not smiling. “I mean, my _God,_ you should have seen her with Hook earlier today!” _Or Neal, the other night._

“Yeah, but to be fair…” Robin shrugged.

Tink crossed her arms, frowning. “What?”

“Well—“ Robin scratched the back of his head awkwardly, looking around. “I mean, it’s _Hook,”_ he said in a low voice. “Do you really think he minded?”

“That’s beside the point,” she said, shaking her head. 

“And what is the point?”

“The point is, I don’t like the way she was hanging over Ne—over Hook!” For some reason, she felt reluctant to share her growing fondness for Neal with Robin. Well, maybe the reason wasn’t so vague: after all, if she told Robin, he’d tell Regina; Regina would tell Emma; Emma would either laugh and tell Neal, or laugh and vow to crush Tink to pixie dust if she got within a hundred yards of her man.

Robin looked surprised. “ _Oh…_ ” he said tauntingly. “Oh, I _see_ ….”

With a horrible sinking feeling, Tink realized what she’d just done: if Robin told Hook, not only would she be forced to look at his smug, smirky face incessantly, but he’d never give her a moment’s peace. On top of that, Hook’s ego already took up half the room; she couldn’t bear to be responsible for encouraging it. 

“Oh, _shoot_ ,” she said, snapping her fingers. She gave Robin a tight smile. “Well, I guess you got me. So—tell you what—let’s never speak of this again.”

“Now, hold on,” he grinned, wagging his finger. “I’ve never seen our little Tink behaving like a maid in spring.”

 _Like a what in what?_ Tink bared her teeth in a smile, forcing a laugh. “Right. Those…crazy maids.”

“I should have known,” Robin went on, beaming. “Fairies are _jealous_ little creatures, aren’t they?”

“Mmm, very jealous. So, listen, if you could _not_ tell him about this…”

“Fear not,” Robin said, giving her a pompous little bow. “I would never dream of spilling a lady’s secrets.”

“Great,” she said, letting out a relieved breath. There was an awkward silence: Robin continued to smile at her fondly while she scanned the room, desperate to change the subject. She drummed her hands on the table. “So…”

“So…” Robin grinned, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “So how long has this been going on?”

Tink shook her head slightly. “Uh…”

“Oh, come on, don’t be shy,” he pressed, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Hey, how’s Regina?” she said suddenly. The smile slid off his face, replaced by a worried frown.

“She’s having problems with Henry,” he said sadly. “She wants me to find out what’s going on, because he won’t talk to her.”

“What kind of problems?” Tink frowned. From the little time she’d spent with Henry, she’d gotten the impression that he was an annoyingly perfect child. Robin sighed.

“To me, it just sounds like he’s growing up. But you know how Regina is…”

“A manipulative control freak,” she nodded. Robin gave her a strange look.

“I was going to say… ‘overprotective.’”

Tink froze. “…That, too.”

“Anyways, she says that Emma’s been having the same problems, so she knows it’s not her; it’s Henry.” Robin frowned suddenly and twisted in his seat. “Hey, didn’t I order a drink?”

They both looked toward the counter, where Ruby was giggling over a text. Tink smiled apologetically at a betrayed-looking Robin.

“I don’t think you’re getting that drink any time soon.”

Robin tensed. “Damn, I really needed that drink,” he said, clenching his jaw. He began tapping his fingers anxiously. “I could really have used that drink.”

Tink raised an eyebrow. “Would…you…like…mine?”

Robin looked up. He blinked rapidly a few times, then broke into a tearful smile. “Thank you so much,” he sniffed, wiping his eyes with one hand, and taking Tink’s proffered drink with the other. Tink watched him awkwardly as he gulped it down.

“You seem extremely not okay,” she said at last. Robin put his head in hands.

“It’s Regina,” he sighed. Tink’s eyebrows shot up: she had been the one who set them up, after all. _“Pixie dust doesn’t lie,” she’d insisted. “He’s your soulmate.”_ She’d spent God-knew-how-many years trying to get them together, convinced that Regina finding love again would bring light to the darkness that made its home in her heart.

“I thought things were going well.”

“No…I mean, yes, they are,” he said quickly, seeing Tink’s stricken face. “I love Regina. I care about her, I want her to be happy. And I love Henry like my own son, I do…” He paused, gathering courage. “But she is a tad high-maintenance.”

“Well…” Tink shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose. Maybe a little.”

“And now she wants me to spy on Henry!” he cried exasperatedly. “I mean—that’s insane, right?”

“She’s just being a mother.” 

“And Henry’s just being a teenager,” Robin argued. “I…” He shook his head. “I can’t do this to him. He needs a chance to breathe. That boy has been through so much, he’s pulled so many people together… He deserves his own life.”

Tink looked at him, thinking very hard about what she was about to do. She looked around them, then leaned forward. “All right, look,” she said in a low voice, still shifting her gaze around. “I am going to write a suggestion down on a piece of paper. You are going to read that suggestion. And then you are going to eat that paper, and never speak of it to anyone _ever_.”

Robin looked puzzled. “W-why exactly am I eating paper?”

“To destroy the evidence, of course.” Tink leaned back, still sweeping her gaze around the diner as she reached into her bag, and pulled out a pen and a scrap of paper. She scratched a few words out and pushed the paper across the table. Robin frowned at it, slowly picking it up to read. 

“‘ _Lie_ —‘”

“SHH!” Tink said furiously. She looked meaningfully at the paper, and back to Robin. _Go on!_

Robin looked at the paper reluctantly, pulling a face. He forced himself to put it on his tongue… He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, and chewed and swallowed, fighting his gag reflex. “ _Gah!_ ” he coughed, sticking his tongue out. “Oh, _God_ , that was horrible!”

“Yeah, I can’t believe you just did that,” Tink snorted. “But seriously, don’t tell.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Neal frowned at the files in front of him, running his thumb against his lips thoughtfully. Police reports were nauseatingly dull _and_ difficult to read. It didn’t help that Hook was lazily reclining in the opposite chair, his feet propped up on the desk, _doing absolutely nothing._  

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He was hard at work, playing with his phone. 

“Hmph,” he heard Hook chuckle softly. Neal grit his teeth: he’d been doing that _all_ week. At first, Neal had simply thought that pushing the buttons and seeing symbols appear was what amused him so much. He was shocked to discover that Hook was actually _reading_ something off his phone: texts. 

It was frustrating because Hook refused to tell him who he was texting; and yet, every five minutes, there would be a _ping!_ and he would have a question. 

“What is a _lol_?” he would ask interestedly.

“Who is Yolo?” he would frown.

“I don’t think this is a word,” he would say, pointing to a hashtag suspiciously.

“Who are you _talking_ to?” Neal would ask, throwing down his pencil. Hook would only raise an eyebrow and say cryptically, “Who indeed?”

At first, he’d suspected Emma. She always got a kick out of Hook’s astonishment over modern devices, and it wouldn’t be out of character for them to draw out some bizarre inside joke for a ridiculously long time (they still snickered every time Jamie Lee Curtis appeared onscreen, for God-only-knew-what-reason). But that theory had been shot to hell when Emma had unexpectedly popped her head out of her office and Hook had scrambled to hide his phone, pretending he’d been working the whole time.

“Could one of you guys grab lunch?” she’d asked. “I’ve got a phone conference with Henry’s teacher and—“

“I’ll go,” Hook offered. Emma had raised her eyebrows as he left the room with only a “see you later” thrown over his shoulder, not even reminding her he loved her _once._

Neal stared at him now, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as Hook raised his eyebrows laughingly and muttered, “Bloody hell…”

“You know I don’t like it when you speak British,” Neal said, leaning back in his chair. Hook dragged his eyes away from his phone to look at Neal innocently. 

“Sorry?”

“Who are you talking to? And _don’t_ say ‘who indeed?’,” he added. Hook looked faintly annoyed.

“Not sure that’s any of your concern, mate.”

“Who’s concerned?” Neal shrugged.  Hook smiled wryly.

“Not sure that’s any of your _business_ , mate.”

“Come on,” he said, spreading his arms. “What’s the big deal? Tell me already. I won’t tell Emma,” he added in an undertone.

Hook narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to say something when Emma called from her office, “Neal, could you come in here, please?”

“Yeah,” he called back, not moving. Hook stared back stubbornly.

“Neal?”

“Yeah, in a _second_!” he threw over his shoulder. Hook folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, smirking. 

“I’ve got all day.”

“I know. You don’t do anything.”

“That’s not true. I brought you a bagel this morning.”

Neal raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Give it up, Jones. You know I’m going to find out.”

“Don’t call me ‘Jones’, _Baelfire._ ”

Neal flinched. “Don’t call me ‘Baelfire’, _Killian._ ”

Hook widened his eyes furiously. “How _dare_ you speak that name!” he hissed, standing up.

“There’s no line I won’t cross, _Killian_ ,” Neal retorted, standing up fast enough to knock his chair down. “And I _will—_ “he poked his shoulder firmly—“find out!”

Hook looked at his shoulder, then back up at Neal. “I hope for your sake that was an accident,” he said vehemently. “Because if it wasn’t—“

_Ping!_

Hook looked down at his phone, and smiled, instantly erasing all the anger from his face. Neal tried to discreetly peek over the top, but Hook snapped it shut and closed his fist around it.

“I’m going to go pick up Emma’s orange bread,” he said with forced pleasantness. “Be a love, let her know for me?” He patted Neal’s shoulder rather forcefully. “Thanks.”

Neal watched him walk out of the station wordlessly. Okay, but seriously, who _was_ this guy? He was different from the newly confident Hook that he’d met last week. That guy had been scary-pleasant, easy-going to a fault. This other Hook, who’d surfaced more and more as his tech skills grew, was a snarky little bastard, more cocky than confident—disturbingly similar to _old_ Hook. And who liked old Hook?

“Neal!” Emma snapped. “Would you _please_ get in here?”

“I’m coming!” he called back, but this time he really _did_ go. He shoved his hands in his pockets, nudging the door to her office open with his toe. 

“What’s up?”

Emma turned; she’d been standing with her arms folded, watching Hook leave the station. “Where’s he going?” she asked, nodding after him.

Neal raised an eyebrow. “Orange bread. What else?”

“Orange bread?” she repeated, leaning back against the desk. 

“Grilled cheese,” he explained. “It’s cute how he still calls it that. May I sit?” he asked, pulling out her chair and helping himself. Emma sucked in her teeth, battling impatience.

“Please do.”

“Thanks.” Neal winked at her and tucked his arms behind his head, relaxing. “This is a great chair,” he murmured, closing his eyes.  

“So…”

Neal lazily opened one eye. Emma was “casually” twirling her necklace around her finger, a gesture that Neal knew meant, _I know you know I’m upset about something, but we’re both going to pretend I’m fine._ He closed his eyes again. “So….?”

“So, uh…” Emma frowned down at the necklace. “Did you  ever find out —?”

“Nope.”

“Oh.”

He could hear the tension in her voice, knowing even without opening his eyes that she was glaring at the floor, clenching her teeth. “Emma,” he sighed. “Look…”

“Don’t tell me it’s not my business.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he said, mildly annoyed. “I was going to say that I’ve been trying to found out all week, but he’s got that phone glued to his hand.”

“He won’t tell me!” she said frustratedly, starting to pace back and forth. 

Neal shrugged. “Maybe he’s texting another—“

“Another what?” Emma snapped, stopping in her tracks to glare at him. “Another what _exactly?”_

He froze. “Another… sheriff?”

Emma scoffed. “That’s it,” she muttered, crossing the room in two strides. She yanked her coat off the rock and stalked out of the office. Neal watched her bewilderedly.

“Emma?” he called, not getting up from the chair. “Emma, what the hell are you doing?”

She yelled back a few choice words. Neal’s eyebrows shot up.

“That is _not_ appropriate princess language!” he shouted after her, following the sound of angry boots down the hall. 

 

* * *

 

Emma slammed the car door hard enough to make Neal exclaim, “ _Emma!_ ” and worriedly check for scratches. She ignored him, pounding up the diner’s steps furiously. Through the window, she could see Hook leaning against the counter, grinning at—she pressed her face against the frame, trying to see, but it was too narrow.

“Emma…” Neal said, having caught up to her. “You can’t just—“

“Actually, I can,” she said, and yanked the door open. Her stomach twisted, seeing Ruby and Hook turn around, startled. _Ruby, huh?_ she thought sourly. _I should have known._ Forcing a smile on her face, Emma walked over. 

“Hey,” she said casually, pulling out the stool next to Hook’s with her foot. 

“Uh…hey,” he said uncertainly. 

“Neal told me you went to lunch, so I thought I’d join you.” She looked over at Ruby disinterestedly. “I’ll take my usual.”

“Okay.” Ruby smiled nervously. “I’ll just…go…tell Tony.”

“Mmm,” Emma smiled back frostily. “Tell Tony I said ‘hi’.”

The smile gradually slid off her face as Ruby walked into the kitchen, yelling something (presumably at Tony). Emma turned to Hook, raising her eyebrows coolly. He tried a nervous smile.

“I-I was going to bring you back something.”

“How sweet.”

“Orange bread…I, uh, I know how fond you are of it.”

“Mmm….I _do_ love ‘orange bread’.” Emma smiled dangerously, picking up his left arm and studying the hook. “You know what I don’t love?” she said, testing the sharp point with her finger. “I don’t love people who keep secrets from me.” She squinted at Ruby’s head visible through the kitchen window, lifting the hook so it looked as though the tip was piercing it.

“I didn’t think you’d mind,” Hook said, tugging his arm back with a frown. 

Emma scoffed. “I don’t.”

Hook raised an eyebrow. “I see…” And then he grinned at her, infuriatingly smug. “ _You’re jealous._ ”

“No, I’m not jealous,” she snapped, which made it sound like she _was_ jealous. But she wasn’t lying: it was something different than jealousy. Emma _knew_ jealous: she’d been jealous when she’d caught Graham sneaking out of Regina’s window. She’d been jealous when Tamara rolled into town, hanging off of Neal’s arm. She’d even been jealous when she caught a glimpse of Milah’s name  tattooed on Hook’s arm. This thing with Ruby… it wasn’t jealousy, at least not completely. There was something else there, she just couldn’t put her finger on it. 

It was the same feeling she’d had back when she was in the foster system, trying to hold onto the few possessions she scavenged without some other kid stealing it. _MINE._ No matter what it was, however silly or childish the object in question seemed, she knew she didn’t want anyone else to have it. There was a stuffed bear that she’d had since she was five: it was ugly. It was probably the ugliest little bear she’d ever laid eyes on: the nose was missing, half the stuffing was hanging out, and its fur was made of this horrible orange fuzz that made her gag. But it was hers. Even at thirteen, when little Susanna from her group home had tried to sneak it under her shirt, Emma had caught her and given her a right hook that sent poor Susanna’s eyes spinning. 

“You know what your problem is, Emma?” Hook said, pulling her out of her buried childhood memories. “You only want what you can’t have.”

“What?” Emma looked at him, scoffing. “That’s _ridiculous_.” 

“No, it’s not,” Hook insisted. “Neal, back me up on this.”

“ _No_ ,” Neal said firmly from the corner table. “There’s no way I’m getting involved in all of—”he waved his hand at them—“ _that._ ” 

“I’m going to use you as an example, anyway,” Hook shrugged. 

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Meh….” Hook screwed up his face indecisively, pretending to think it over. “I’m still going to use you as an example.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard in my life,” Emma snorted, folding her arms. “I _have_ Neal. Why would you—?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Neal said, standing up. He frowned at Emma, holding up a hand. “You _have_ me?” he repeated incredulously.  

Emma stared back, nonplussed. “Yeah.”

“You _have_ me.”

“Yeah, why is that—? I don’t understand why you’re getting upset.”

“Ooh.” Hook sucked in a breath, shaking his head. “Bad move, Emma, _very_ bad move.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“You don’t _have_ me!” Neal scoffed. “I’m not a little Chihuahua you can carry around in your purse. I’m a _human being_. I’m an actual _person_ , wi-wi-with thoughts and feelings and dignity!”

She blinked at him. “Yeah, so…?”

Neal stared at her, openmouthed. “You are un _believable_ ,” he said finally, putting his hands down and slinging his coat over his shoulders. “ _Unbelievable._ ”

“Wait, where are you going?” she spluttered, twisting in her seat.

“Somewhere else,” he said, stalking past her. 

“ _Somewhere else_? Could you be more VAGUE?” she called after him angrily. As the door slammed behind him, she whipped around and punched Hook hard in the shoulder.

“ _Christ!_ ” he swore angrily, gripping his arm. “Why the—- _why?_ ”

“Why did you have to bring it up?” she said furiously. “Why did you have to bring _anything_ up? Now he’s all upset—“

“Wait, wait, wait,” Hook interrupted loudly. “Are you saying this is _my_ fault?” 

“No, I—“ Emma covered her face exasperatedly. “That’s not what I meant,” she said in a muffled voice.

“Well, then what _did_ you mean?” he demanded. 

“It’s just—UGH!” She put her head down on the counter, clenching her fists. “You people are driving me CRAZY!”

There was silence. Then, sounding like he was trying to contain the rage and the incredulity in his voice—

“ _We’re_ driving _you_ crazy?”

Emma nodded, her head still buried in her arms. Hook took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

“Okay,” he said with a forced calm. “I need to go somewhere that’s not here.”

Emma lifted her head. “Wait, you’re leaving, too?” she said, disappointed. “Why?”

“Because, Emma. Because I love you very dearly. And because if I stay here another ten seconds, I’m afraid I might kill you. And that would hurt me.” Hook got up to leave.

“But…” Emma looked up at him mournfully. “But I’m upset.”

“I know,” he sighed, squeezing her shoulder with a little too much force to be comforting. “I know.”

Emma watched him walk out of the diner. For a minute, she simply sat there, thinking.

“Well, shit,” she muttered. It wasn’t that this was the first time she’d had an argument with Hook or Neal. They’d fought over plenty of things. How many times had she scolded Neal for leaving the coffee pot plugged in all day? How many times had she yelled at Hook for letting Henry run around with his sword? 

But it _was_ the first time she’d had an argument with both of them at the same time. Normally, when she was fighting with one, the other would comfort her. Neal would take her out for a cup of coffee, maybe walk with her up and down Main Street while they talked about what an asshole Hook was being. Hook would sneak liquor into the station and let her smash all the bottles while she vented about Neal. But no one would be taking her for coffee or letting her smash bottles now. 

Emma sat up. Oh, God. Was _she_ going to have to apologize this time?

 _No way,_ she thought, trying to reassure herself. _They’d never make me apologize. They’re hopelessly in love with me._

 _But that didn’t stop Hook from drooling over Ruby,_ a nasty little voice said. _Maybe they can manage without you. Maybe they’ll move on._

As if hearing her thoughts, Ruby appeared, carrying her grilled cheese.

“Here,” she said setting it down. “I, uh… I didn’t want to interrupt earlier, so I waited until Hook left. “

Emma slowly raised her eyes, glaring at her. Ruby involuntarily took a step back, looking petrified. 

“What’s going on with you two?” Emma asked darkly. Ruby shook her head.

“I-i-it’s _nothing_ , Emma. Less than nothing, really. Just a few harmless texts.” Ruby smiled despite herself. “He’s actually getting pretty good at it.”

Emma smiled mockingly. “I’m guessing you didn’t mind teaching him.”

Ruby paled. “It was fine,” she said, trying to sound light-hearted. 

Emma nodded slowly, tearing the crust of her sandwich. “So what do you two talk about?”

“Just…stuff.” She looked around the diner, as if looking for an escape. 

“What kind of stuff?” She began ripping the rest of the sandwich to shreds.

“Oh, you know…bitchy customers. Annoying things Granny says.” Ruby stared at the mutilated sandwich, hopefully wondering if that was going to be her. Emma smirked at the thought, then pushed the plate away 

“Ruby, can we talk somewhere in private?”

Ruby blinked a few times. “Sure,” she squeaked. 

Emma followed her to the pantry. Ruby kicked a few boxes out of the way to make more room. She gave Emma a weak smile.

“What’s up?”

“Listen, Ruby,” Emma said, clapping her hands together. “I’m going to be straight with you. I’m not so sure how I feel about this whole, eh….Hook situation.”

“Hey, I get it,” Ruby said, putting a hand to her heart. “I mean, every time I see Jason hanging around with that—“

“Okay. For the last time: I am not _jealous,_ ” Emma said exasperatedly. “I just don’t want to see you two together, okay? It angers me. It makes me physically _ill._ I actually feel nauseous just thinking about it.”

Ruby frowned, folding her arms. “Wait…are you two together or not?”

“Are we…? _Please,_ ” Emma scoffed, tossing her head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“So, then, why do you care?”

 _Because MINE._ “Because,” Emma said, clenching her teeth. “Because I do. And because I’m the sheriff, and so how are your parking ticket coming along, _Ruby_?”

Ruby raised her eyebrows challengingly. “Are you trying to intimidate me?”

“No. I am succeeding in intimidating you.” Emma flashed her a sarcastic smile. 

Ruby smiled back wryly. “Fine. I’ll pay the parking tickets.” She moved past Emma to hold the door open. “You can get out of my pantry now.”

 Emma narrowed her eyes. “I’ll leave when I’m good and ready.” 

Ruby fixed a bored expression on her face, leaning against the door with folded arms. Emma  held her gaze for a moment, then slowly walked the length of the tiny pantry. She breathed in deeply, looking at the boxes stacked high on the shelves, then pretended to inspect the lower ones, nudging them with her boot. She turned back around, meeting Ruby’s eyes.

“Okay,” she shrugged. “I’m good and ready.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Henry, look… your mother’s just worried about you.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “Why? It’s not like I do anything— _ever._ ”

Robin sighed tiredly, rubbing his eyes. Henry stared at him, the picture of boredom. He liked Robin well enough, but this wasn’t Robin talking: this was Regina. He could tell how reluctant Robin was to talk to him about his “behavior”, so Regina _must_ have put him up to it. 

And it wasn’t like Robin had any place to lecture him: he wasn’t his dad. Henry _had_ a dad, and a pretty awesome dad at that. Neal had come into his life two years ago, but it felt like he’d always been there. He was more than just his biological father. Neal had essentially come back to life, taking a bullet and being ripped through a portal, just to save him after he’d been kidnapped and taken to Neverland—the place that Neal had wanted to leave behind forever. _That_ was his father. Not Robin. Neal. 

So if _he_ didn’t have a problem with Henry’s behavior, why was Robin bitching about it?

“All right, Henry, I’m going to level with you,” Robin said, placing his hands flat on the kitchen table. “Last week, when Regina came to me and asked me to talk to you—“

 _Spy on me, but whatever,_ Henry thought dryly.

“—I didn’t tell her this, but I really disagreed with her on this one. You know, you’re nearly fifteen years of age. It’s natural for you to want a life of your own, and I think you should have one…”

Henry’s eyes glazed over as Robin went on about things Henry was perfectly aware of.

What? He was almost fifteen? _Really?_

And what was that? It was okay for him to want his own space and—oh, it was a good thing he was sitting down for this one—it was _normal?_

 Robin’s heart was in the right place, but he wasn’t being particularly helpful; if he really wanted to do something, he should be working on getting Regina off his back.

“…get into trouble or anything, I want you to know you can come to me. I can help.” Robin offered him a smile. 

Henry smiled back blandly. “Thanks, Robin, but I’ve got everything under control. I’ve actually got a lot of homework to do, so…” He twirled his pencil between his fingers and looked pointedly toward the door.

Robin looked startled. “I’m sorry, Henry,” he said, scrambling to pick up his coat. “I didn’t mean…was I talking too much? I didn’t want to keep you from your studies—“

“Yeah, no, it’s fine,” Henry said, flipping through his calculus textbook. 

“So, just call if you need anything, all right? Do you know when your grandparents are coming home?”

“Nope.” Henry frowned in concentration as he started deciphering a word problem.

“Tell you what—if you get hungry and they’re still not back, you can have dinner with me and Roland. What do you say?”

“Mmm.” _So, we’ll say that “Cost” is f(x)=…shit, how do you do these ones again?_

“All right, then. See you later, Henry.” Robin ruffled his hair (which was annoying) and left. Henry had the loft to himself. 

_Yay…_

He closed the calculus book, and rested his chin on it. He couldn’t stand this anymore. He hated this loft, this _stupid, cramped_ loft. He hated starting high school and realizing that while he’d spent all that time running around after Snow White and Prince Charming and the rest of the Fairy Tale Police Force, the other kids had been hanging out, forming their cliques, deciding if they were jocks or nerds or band geeks… Henry wasn’t anything. He was still the little kid clutching the storybook, reciting fairy tales until he was blue in the face. Meanwhile, his entire family was made up of total _badasses._

His grandparents were Snow White, Prince Charming, and Rumplestiltskin. Two legendary, sword-wielding, arrow-shooting heroes, and the most powerful sorcerer in the land.

His mother was the Savior. Another sword-wielding hero, with the added firepower of light magic.

His adopted mother was the Evil Queen. Enough said.

They even had Captain Hook in there, the legendary…uh…Henry frowned. What _did_ he do, other than sleep his way through the entire Enchanted Forest?

The point was, Henry lived in the shadows of their spotlight. Oh, sure, they all thought giving him a special title had helped, but _the Heart of the Truest Believer?_ He was in high school, for God’s sake, he didn’t need that name kicking around!

He needed to make his own legacy. He wasn’t exactly sure on _what_ he wanted to do…or _how_ he was going to do it…or even really what constituted a legacy, but he DID know that it was going to be _epic_!

Whatever it was.

In the meantime, he was going to work on getting some breathing space. Getting out and stretching his legs, doing some normal teenager things. Nothing illegal—mostly because his family basically OWNED the entire police department. Just…normal.

His alarm beeped. Henry looked down, feeling his heart thud. It was six o’clock: the dinner shift at Granny’s. He had checked the schedule, she’d definitely be working now—

He grabbed his coat, pausing in front of the mirror to carefully push his bangs into a messy, windswept style. Then he had to re-zip his hoodie, trying to decide between a half-zip and a three-quarter-zip. Settling on the three-quarter, Henry gave his reflection one last appraisal, and shrugged: it would do. 

As he pounded down the stairs, he gave himself a pep-talk, trying to calm his nerves. He’d had quite a growth spurt last year; he looked _much_ older than he had before—practically _grown…_ Okay, maybe that was exaggerating.

But he _did_ shoot up at least five inches. And last week, he found a hair on his upper lip! Well…okay, so it turned out to be an eyelash, but _it was something._

And an eyelash was a _kind_ of hair…right?

“Hey, kid, where’s the fire?” David said as Henry practically flew by him and Mary Margaret. 

“Eating at the diner! See you later!” he called over his shoulder, not stopping for a second. He couldn’t help feeling annoyed with them. “ _Where’s the fire?” God, do they have to know EVERYTHING?_ Did he have to run every insignificant life decision by them? 

Henry hopped on his bike and raced to Granny’s like he was in the friggin’ Tour de France. He zoomed past Jefferson and his daughter, ignoring Grace’s, “Hi, Henry!” He didn’t have time for Grace; he had more important things to focus on right now.

He chained the bike to the rack, taking a moment mess up his hair properly. After he checked it in the reflection of the window, he took a deep breath. _Okay, Mills,_ he told himself. _Let’s do this._

He swung open the door to Granny’s, heart in his throat. Trembling, he walked toward the counter. _Be cool,_ he ordered himself. _Just be cool._ He slid onto a stool, rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans. Where _was_ she? He glanced at the clock: it was ten after six, she should _definitely_ be here—

“Hey, Henry.”

His heart skipped a beat. _There she was._

“Hi, Ruby,” he said, hating himself instantly for how shaky his voice sounded. Ruby raised an eyebrow, smiling.

“You okay?” she said. Henry coughed.

“I’m fine,” he shrugged, trying to talk a little lower. “How’s it going?”

“As well as it ever does,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You know what you want?”

“Not yet,” he said, trying to keep her talking to him longer. “Hey… can I ask you something?”

Ruby raised her eyebrows, looking intrigued. “Ooo-ooh,” she said slyly, resting her chin on her hands. “Is it about a girl?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” he said, feeling his ears redden. “I just…uh…”

Ruby gasped. “You _like_ her.”

A very small voice in his head scoffed. _Yeah,_ duh, _what else could it possibly be about? Nothing gets past this one._

 _Shut up!_ he told the voice furiously. _Ruby’s smart…ish._

“I don’t really know what to say to her,” Henry said. “I mean, we’ve been friends forever, but now… I don’t really know how to talk to her.”

“Well, maybe you should just throw it out there,” Ruby said reasonably. “I mean, be casual about it, you don’t want to seem _too_ eager. But maybe she likes you back, and she’s just too nervous to tell you.” She seemed to be holding back a laugh. “Henry, you can tell me,” she said, leaning forward enough to make his head tingle. “Is it Grace?”

 _Aaaaaannnnddddd_ …. the moment was over. 

Henry looked back at her, unsure how to answer. “Uh…”

“Evening, love!” 

 _Oh, God…what is_ he _doing here?_ Henry rolled his eyes as Hook took a seat a few stools down from him. Ruby’s face lit up…disappointingly so. Henry frowned as she straightened up and went over to Hook.

Wait a minute.

“No, come on,” Henry muttered. He knew that grin; he’d seen Hook try it on his mom practically every day. And that weird-eyebrow-dance, that was all too familiar. But Ruby was just eating it up.

_WHY???????_

“You know what you want?” Ruby was saying, her hand on her hip. Henry’s eyes narrowed as Hook lifted an eyebrow.

“Well… I’ve an idea.”

“Oh, _barf,_ ” Henry said under his breath, glaring at Hook as Ruby giggled. His fists clenched when she playfully hit him across the counter. 

“Your usual?” she asked, simpering.

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

 _“Too much trouble”? She’s a waitress, for crying out loud! This is her livelihood, you_ moron. _How could it be too much trouble?_ Henry gritted his teeth, watching Ruby scamper away. In what universe was any of this fair? Hook had already tried to dig his claws into his mom, laying all that “I love you” crap on her every chance he got; now he had to go after Ruby, too? 

Hook caught sight of Henry out of the corner of his eye, and smiled. “Hey, Henry,” he said, holding up a hand in greeting.

Henry stared back at him sourly.  Hook frowned.

“Everything all right, mate?”

Ugh. _Mate._ “Everything’s fine,” Henry said, forcing a smile. “So, what’s the deal between you and Ruby, hmm? You guys going out, or what?”

Hook first looked startled by his abruptness, then amused. He snorted, wagging a finger at him. “You sound just like your mother.”

 _What every teenage boy needs to hear._ “So, is that a ‘no’?” Henry asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. The last thing he needed was for Hook to tease him about girls.

Hook was saved from answering by Ruby reappearing, drink in hand. “There you go,” she said, beaming at him. 

“Thanks, love,” Hook said, winking at her. Henry closed his eyes, forced to endure another bout of Ruby giggling. 

“It wasn’t even funny,” he grumbled petulantly, resting his cheek on his hand. 

“So…” Ruby smiled at Hook from under her eyelashes. “We still on for this weekend?”

 _This weekend?_ Henry sat up, feeling a jolt of panic in his stomach. What was this weekend? Who was “we”? Not her and Hook, _please_ not her and Hook. How? Why? What? No—it just—can’t— _WHY DOES HE ALWAYS SWOOP IN?_ Henry put his face in his hands, trying to control his breathing. 

“You all right, mate?”

Henry lifted his face out of his hands to see Hook and Ruby looking at him in concern. He swallowed, feeling his blood pulse in his head. 

“I’m fine,” he managed. His heart threatened to punch its way out of his chest, and his throat was strangely tight. “I have to go,” he said, sliding off the stool.

“Go?” Ruby repeated, knitting her eyebrows together. “Henry. You didn’t even order anything.”

“Not hungry,” he muttered. 

He kept his eyes on his feet as he walked out of the diner and to the bike rack. As he undid the chain, he noticed his hands were shaking. _Pull yourself together,_ he told himself, swinging his leg over the seat and pedaling toward the sidewalk. _It won’t last forever._ Hook and Ruby wouldn’t last, he’d bet his last dollar on it. All he had to do was be patient. Things would work themselves out, they always did when you—

 _Yeah, but what if they don’t?_ Henry glared, pedaling faster the angrier he got. That hopeful optimism crap? That was his grandparents talking, not him. They believed that if you just _believed_ enough, things would be okay. Well…that may have worked out for them in their Enchanted Forest days, battling monsters and evil sorcerers, but this was _not_ the Enchanted Forest. And much as he hated to admit it, this was _not_ a battle between a hero and a villain, where good would always win. This was a one-sided struggle over a pretty girl, and Hook would win because he could _actually_ grow a mustache—a real one. Ruby would always look at Henry and see him as that ten-year-old boy, who believed in magic and hope and fairy tales.

Goddamn, he hated that boy.

Where did _believing_ ever get him? All he ever did was convince other people to be awesome, acting as their own personal cheerleader on their way to becoming a hero. But Henry…? He couldn’t sword-fight; he couldn’t do anything. The only thing he could do was sit back and wait for other people to save him. He was helpless. And he hated it.

Not for the first time, his thoughts turned to magic.

He _knew_ that magic always came with a price. He _knew_ that trying to solve your problems with magic was just asking for trouble. But…he wasn’t looking to solve anything with magic, not really. He just didn’t want to be completely dependent on everyone else. He wanted to have a useful talent at his disposal. He was never going to be a heroic prince like David, or a Savior, like Emma; he even had to admit Hook was fairly badass when he started swashbuckling around, sword-fighting anything that could be sword-fought. 

But Henry was smart. 

He was like Regina. The two of them hadn’t always gotten along, but there had always been a similarity there that ran deeper than the mother-and-son bond. You didn’t have to be physically strong to have magic. Rumplestiltskin had been the village coward, weak and helpless, and now look at him. 

The only thing that made him hesitate was Neal: he’d hated what magic did to his father, and even more when his father abandoned him for it. Henry didn’t want Neal to think he was choosing magic over him, especially since he would _never_ sacrifice his father for magic. 

But he also couldn’t stand being stuck in this helpless, useless state. Regina had offered to teach him magic once, and he’d turned her down. _Why,_ he didn’t know, it was possibly the stupidest thing he’d ever done, and he wanted to smack his ten-year-old self for it. But if she’d offered, that meant she didn’t disapprove of it. And if she didn’t disapprove, she wouldn’t mind if he snuck into her vault…

Henry hadn’t realized that at some point, he had switched directions, no longer pedaling toward the loft, but toward the vault. An idea had started forming in his head. He knew that somewhere in there was a book…A book of magic. The one that had reawakened Regina’s powers after the first curse broke. And he knew how to make it work again: the well, where things once lost were returned.

He was going to revive the book. 

And then, Henry Mills was going to learn magic.

 

* * *

 

“Well, he was in a hurry, wasn’t he?”

David looked up. Snow was smiling as she hung her coat, the smile that meant _I’m scheming, and you’re going to help me._ “All right,” he sighed. “What are you thinking?”

“Henry and Grace,” Snow said briskly, turning around. David blinked; once upon a time, she had played along, getting cute with him when he caught her being sneaky. _“What are you thinking?”_ he’d ask, putting his hands on his hips, pretending sternness. “ _Nothing_ ,” she would giggle. He would wrap his arms around her and say, _“Snow, I know you. Now what are you planning?_ ” And then she’d smile and say, _“You know me too well…_ ”

Yeah, they didn’t do that anymore. 

“Henry and Grace?” he repeated, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

“David, please,” she said impatiently, pulling out a chair. “You saw the way he zoomed past us, he was _obviously_ going to see Grace.”

“No, I meant, who _is_ Grace?”

The look of disdain she gave him would have broken a lesser  man.

“Jefferson’s daughter,” she said, as if it was ridiculous he should even ask. “He likes her.”

“He does?” David frowned. “How do you know?”

“I’m a mother, I know these things,” Snow said dismissively. David internally rolled his eyes. It was such a cop-out answer, and one that she used _all_ the time. 

“Okay,” he said slowly, sitting down next to her. “What about it?”

Snow looked at him incredulously. “What about it?” she repeated.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“ _What about it?_ ”

David stared at her, shaking his head slightly. “What do you _want_ me to say?”

She scoffed. “Fine. I’ll take care of it myself.”

“Take care of _what?_ What do you have to do with any of this?” he asked as she got up to make a cup of tea. “Snow, this is none of your business!”

Snow looked outraged. “He is my _grandson_ , of course it’s my business!” she snapped. 

“What are you going to do?” David asked bewilderedly. “Ask her out for him? Date her for him? Propose to her for him? Snow, this is between Henry and Grace. I’m telling you, _stay out of it._ ”

“Who knows more about the power of true love than us?” Snow demanded, slamming down a spoon. “This is our area of expertise, David! Henry’s never had a girlfriend before, we can help!”

“Listen to yourself!”David said, standing up. “The _power of true love_? Snow, he’s _fourteen_ , with a girl he _kind of_ likes. That’s not true love, that’s being a teenage boy! He doesn’t need you pressuring him, or making things…” He trailed off as Snow narrowed her eyes dangerously. She spoke through clenched teeth, her voice thick with unspoken threats.

“Making…things…what?”

David gulped, and took a steadying breath. “Making things…” He put out his hands in a reassuring gesture. “Don’t get upset now.”

“Making things _what_ , David?” she said, louder.

“Making things…weird—I said, don’t get upset!” he said as her eyes widened in rage. “It’s just, you _do_ have a tendency to do that. I just want to make sure you don’t embarrass Henry. You know, I remember what it was like to be his age, and I can tell you with absolute certainty…he doesn’t need anyone meddling in his business, however good their intentions.”

“ _Meddling_?” Snow looked offended, putting a hand on her heart. “Me?”

David looked at her sternly. “Snow…”

“That wasn’t meddling!” she said, reading his mind. “That was….motherly concern.”

When they had returned from Neverland, there had been a lot of emotional issues unresolved. Snow was still… _miffed_ with David for lying to her about his fatal condition, even after Rumple had given him the treatment for the dream-shade poisoning. He had lied to her, she said, to keep from hurting her. And that meant that she could never completely trust that what he said, in case he might be trying to protect her again. 

Basically, she was going to hold it over his head for the rest of his life. 

But all that had taken a back-burner to Emma’s emotional turmoil. They had missed the first twenty-eight years of her life, so Snow seemed to want to make up for it by smothering her and getting her hands into everything Emma had to deal with. Figuring out the Henry-Emma-Regina situation had been a nightmare.

 Obviously, Regina wanted Henry to stay with her. She brought up some good points, to be fair: the loft was pretty cramped and Regina had tons of empty space; Henry had lived with her his entire life, there was no reason why he couldn’t still spend time with Emma. But Emma pointed out that Neal would want to spend time with Henry, so Regina would have to be able to convince Neal of the same deal. It was at this point that Snow suggested Emma and Neal get remarried and Henry live with them.

That was the part of the evening that everyone had exchanged awkward looks and stopped speaking. Henry had carefully forced his hopeful look into a neutral one, while Emma and Neal suddenly became mutes with an extreme fascination in their shoes. David had never felt so humiliated on Snow’s behalf as  he did then. But in all honesty, no one was very surprised.

Snow made her feelings toward Hook very clear: she did not like him. She told him right to his face. On several occasions. Using phrases like, “extreme violent hatred” and “infected with God knows how many STDs”. Needless to say, she was _not_ happy about the pirate pursuing her daughter.

_But Neal…_

Snow pretty much proposed to Neal on Emma’s behalf the minute they rescued him from the Echo Caves. She wanted Neal as her son-in-law almost as much as she wanted to rescue David from the dream-shade poisoning. And she wasn’t shy about voicing those opinions.

For his part, David would have been happy with Emma staying single. Sure, he thought Neal was going to be a great father to Henry, and he was glad he was staying in Storybrooke. If Emma and Neal could reconcile their differences and decided to give it another go, he’d stand behind it. But if Emma had decided to give Hook a chance, he wouldn’t have been entirely opposed to that either. He had proved himself to be a decent guy, and he and David had developed something almost close to friendship. The most important thing was his daughter’s happiness. Whoever she chose, or didn’t choose—all that mattered was Emma was happy.

Snow, on the other hand, berated Emma twenty times a day about even considering Hook. And if she wasn’t bashing Hook, she was singing Neal’s praises. She would follow Emma around, reading from flashcards on why Neal was the better choice. She had prepared speeches, complete with power-point slides. It got to the point where Emma was sneaking out of the loft, just to avoid hearing anymore. 

During the almost-two years that passed, Snow had managed to tone it down. She still made passing remarks, referencing Neal’s Christlike virtues, which made David and Emma exchange exasperated looks. But it had settled into almost comfortable sort-of nagging, the kind of thing mothers did. And that was how Snow justified her annoying, intrusive “concern” to herself.

David was _not_ going to let her do that to Henry.

“You know what?” he said. “Let me talk to him.”

Snow gave him a scoffing look. “ _You?_ You didn’t even know who Grace was until I told you.”

“Henry needs a guy to talk to.” He shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. “I can talk to him. Neal can talk to him. Hey, what the hell, maybe even—“

“That pirate drag queen is _not_ talking to my grandson about this!” Snow said, flaring up. David closed his eyes.

“Okay. But promise me you’ll let me handle this?”

Snow pursed her lips. “Well… if you think it’s best,” she muttered reluctantly. “But only if you tell me absolutely _everything_!” she added, pointing the spoon at him fiercely. David sighed.

“I will tell you everything,” he said tiredly, nodding his head. “But you have to stay out of it.”

“But not completely. Because you’ll tell me every—“

“YES. YES, I WILL TELL YOU EVERYTHING.”

Snow raised her eyebrows. “Well, all right, then.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Saturday night was not supposed to be this miserable. 

Two days ago, Hook and Neal had stormed out of Granny’s, leaving her to stew in her (admittedly childish) misery. Later that night, Emma had tried to call both of them, but neither picked up. 

Neal was angrier with her than he’d been in a _long_ time, which really shook her. Neal never got angry, at least not with her. It was one of the things she loved and hated most about him. He had a total of three emotions: hungry, tired, and bored. Every time she brought up anything remotely emotional, he would either joke his way out of it or stare at her indifferently until she’d finished talking. It was frustrating, but refreshing: her parents always wanted to drag out every emotional conflict they encountered, talking about it until it left them all feeling drained and exhausted and out of breath. Neal was content to let things slide, and go on relaxing through life.

So to see him actually…. _feeling_ was kind of terrifying.

But Hook’s behavior was even more unsettling. She knew that no matter how angry or upset he was, he would never pass up the opportunity to talk to her. Any chance he got to tell her he loved her, to try to convince her to love him back, to tell her that he would do anything for her, blah blah blah…he would take it. So, if he was no longer hanging on her every word, her every move, that could only mean one thing. He was over her.

And that pissed her off more than anything.

Neal was one thing; she could never really get a straight answer out of him. She knew he loved her and all, but he never said it, never talked about it. It was just an unspoken understanding between the two of them. Hook _smothered_ her in love and romance, making grand speeches and even breaking out the man-tears, if he felt the situation called for it. Normally, it drove her crazy and she felt suffocated just being in the same room as him. But now that he had stopped…she kind of missed it. 

Especially now as she sat alone at her table in Granny’s, glowering across the room at Hook and Ruby on what looked suspiciously like a date. 

“Oh, would you just _shut up_ ,” she muttered disgustedly. watching Ruby giggle, playfully smacking his arm. Hook grinned over the top of his glass, raising an eyebrow. Emma felt her jaw drop in indignation. She knew that look. That was _her_ look! Why was Ruby seeing that look? That wasn’t for her! That bitch was stealing her look!

“You seem upset.”

Emma raised her eyes to see Regina standing over her, frowning curiously. Emma looked at her for a second before taking another swig from her glass. “I’m fine.”

Regina looked around awkwardly. “Er…” She carefully tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “May, uh—“ she gestured toward the chair—“may I sit?”

Emma blinked in surprise. “Uh…yeah. Sure.”

Regina took her seat, still looking uncomfortable. Their relationship was a confusing one. It wasn’t quite a friendship, but there was a mutual respect and concern for the other’s well-being. Sharing a son had brought them closer, but it hadn’t done much to endear them to each other. 

“Um…” Regina tapped the table, not meeting Emma’s eyes. “Look, normally I wouldn’t bother…I mean, I honestly couldn’t care less about your personal life—“

“Thanks, Regina. I’m really touched.”

Regina gave her an annoyed look. “I couldn’t care less about your personal life,” she repeated. “But I respect you too much to allow you to upset yourself over—” she waved her hand dismissively—“ _him._ ”

“I’m not upset—“

“Emma, I’m trying to be supportive right now, could you please not talk?” 

Emma raised her eyebrows. “…Okay.”

Regina took a breath. “Hook’s a slut.”

“Jumping right in there, aren’t you?”

Regina gave her a look that clearly said, _If you can’t shut your mouth, I’ll do it for you, so help me God._ “I don’t care how _sweet_ he is or how _cute_ you think he is—he’s a slut. And sluts of a feather slut together. It was only a matter of time before he and Lady Gaga over there got together.” She rolled her eyes as Ruby let out a ridiculously loud laugh. “You’re wasting your time getting jealous, especially when you’ve got a bigger problem on your hands.”

Emma frowned. “Did something happen with Henry?” 

Regina played with the ring around her middle finger, not answering. 

Emma narrowed her eyes. “What is it?”

“It could be nothing, but…” Regina reluctantly looked at her, twisting her mouth to the side. “I caught Henry in my vault the other night.”

“And that’s a problem because…?”

“Because now my magic book is missing.” Regina went back to twisting her ring. “I don’t know if he took it…and if he did, I don’t know what he plans to do with it, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions and accuse him of anything. He’s been so… _weird_ about everything lately, I don’t want to make things worse.”

“But you’re worried he might be trying to do magic?”

“I’m worried he might be trying to _get_ magic.” Regina looked at her intensely. “Henry’s got a lot of magic in his bloodline. You. Your parents. Rumplestiltskin. I read that book to reawaken my magic. He could be trying to read it to awaken _his._ ” She stood up abruptly. “So. There you go. Something better to worry about than the scarlet harlot.”

Emma choked on her drink. “ _Scarlet harlot_?”

“That’s right.”

Emma stared at her, shaking her head bemusedly. “H-h-how do you come up with these names? What are you, writing a book or something?”

Regina stared back expressionlessly. “It amuses me.” She straightened her scarf. “Good-bye, Emma.”

Emma raised a hand in farewell, letting it drop as Regina exited the diner. She wasn’t sure what to think about Henry. He had been pretty distant lately, but she’d assumed it was just to do with being a teenager. Plus, Regina was overprotective, not to mention a little paranoid. It could be nothing. 

But _that_ definitely wasn’t. 

Emma glared as Ruby’s hand lingered a _little_ too long on Hook’s. _Oh, really?_ she thought, gripping her glass tightly. _We’ll just see about that, won’t we, Miss Fifteen-Unpaid-Parking-Tickets._

She pushed herself up from the table, staggering slightly. She wasn’t drunk; she was pissed. And pissed Emma was ten times worse than drunk Emma. 

She strode over, hands in fists, breathing hard through her nose. Hook and Ruby looked up, startled, as she reached their table, slamming her hands flat on the surface. “Well, if it isn’t Tweedle-slut and Tweedle-sluttier?” She looked between the two of them, smiling. “You two enjoying your night?”

“Were,” Hook said pointedly, not quailing under her gaze. “You enjoying your stakeout?”

Emma squinted her eyes at him, trying to think of a biting retort. He tilted his head, smiling sarcastically. Ruby looked between the two of them, biting her lip.

“As it happens,” Emma said, mirroring Hook’s smile, “I _am_ enjoying my stakeout.”

He raised his eyebrows coolly. “Well, that’s good. After all, Emma, your happiness—“ he placed his hand on his heart—“is _my_ happiness.”

Emma smiled grew strained as she struggled not to punch the smirk right off his smirky face. “Well, okay then,” she said, forcing her smile. “I guess I’ll leave you guys to it.” She drummed her hands on the table awkwardly, and straightened up. “I’ve got better things to do than listen to you two compare mascara brands anyway.”

“You mean like, sucking the will to live out of innocent people?” Hook called after her as she turned to leave. Emma turned around slowly, narrowing her eyes at him. He lifted his glass, taking a sip without breaking eye contact. She folded her arms, looking at him incredulously.

“Excuse me?”

Hook raised his eyebrows over his glass. “I said, ‘have a nice night’.”

Emma laughed disbelievingly, shaking her head. “You,” she said, walking back slowly, “are _such_ an asshole.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yes, _that is so.”_ She stopped in front of him, her mouth twisted in a derisive smile. “I don’t know _what_ I ever saw in you.”

“You didn’t see anything in me,” he snorted. “You took _advantage_ of me—not like _that,”_ he added as Ruby gasped.

“I didn’t take advantage of you! What are you talking about, you…you…uh—“

“Should I—“ Hook waved his hand, frowning at her—“ _wait_ for you to think of an insult? Or would you rather just pretend you came up with a real zinger, so I can talk?”

Emma glared at him, slightly shaking her head in disgust. “I _hate_ you, you know that?”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. I _really_ hate you. I-I hate your stupid earring, okay—I hate y-your stupid little _rings_ and shit—“

“Okay, great, Emma, you hate my jewelry, you really know how to wound a man—“

“—I hate your _eyeliner,_ I mean, what the _hell_ is up with that, anyway? You looking like a friggin’ call girl—“

“Ooh, Emma, no, don’t talk about the _eyeliner_ , it’s not like no one’s ever used _that_ against me before—“

“—and I hate that stupid _coat_ you wore! Shredding that piece of crap was the _biggest_ favor anyone has _ever_ done for you—“

“—talking about my coat, like it’s seriously going to hurt my feelings, right? Because I actually believe my merits as a human being are founded on that coat—“

“—and I _hate_ hate _hate_ th-that big puffy shirt thing you used to wear—“

“—by all means, keep talking about how much you hate my clothes, it’s really hurting my feelings—“

“SHUT UP!” Granny roared, silverware clattering as she slammed a tray down.

The entire diner fell silent as everyone turned to stare at them. Emma and Hook focused on the ground as Granny continued reprimanding them.

“If you two can’t behave yourselves, then get the hell out of my diner! You are _not_ the only people in town with drama—you’re just the only assholes in town with the balls to perform it for everyone! So! Either _shut up_ or take it _outside_!” Granny stalked back into the kitchen, leaving Hook and Emma to awkwardly avoid everyone’s gaze and stare at their shoes.

The other customers gradually went back to their business, the sounds of eating and talking replacing the awkward silence. Ruby coughed.

“I think I’ll… call it a night.” She got up from the table, not looking at either of them as she maneuvered her way around Emma. “I’ll, uh…I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said to Hook. He nodded slowly, tracing the pattern on the table cloth.

Emma kept her eyes on the floor as Ruby walked away. Once Ruby was gone, Emma blew out her breath, swinging her arms together awkwardly.

“So… “

Hook glared up at her. Emma stared back blandly.

“What?”

 “Seriously, Emma?” He swung himself up from the table, brushing past her none too gently. Emma stared after him, waiting a moment before following him out the diner.

“What?” she repeated, following him down the steps. “I don’t get it, what’s your deal?”

He didn’t reply; Emma frowned, picking up her pace to catch up with him. She reached out and grabbed his arm to turn him around. “Why are you being so bitchy?”

“Not in the middle of the road, Emma,” he said, tugging his arm out of her grip. Emma heaved a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes. 

“ _Fine._ Sidewalk, come on.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Why not?”

He turned around so suddenly, she let out a little yelp. “Shrill little woman: _go away.”_

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Go _away!_ ” he repeated loudly, throwing his arms up. “Just go away! I am so tired of dealing with you, _please_ just go away!”

Emma felt her jaw drop. “You’re _tired_ of _dealing_ with me?” she said incredulously.

Hook smiled at her through clenched teeth. “That’s right!”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“The man who’s been pining after me for two years  is just—“she shrugged, waving her hand—“all of a sudden, tired of dealing with me?”

“Yes, you want to know why?” He took a step closer, making her flinch. “Because _you_ are a very difficult woman!”

She gasped indignantly. “I am _not!_ ”

“You’re not difficult? Really? Then how come you yell at me, twenty-four hours a day for doing nothing but whatever you tell me to do? How come you don’t defend me when your mother climbs on her _I-Hate-Hook_ soapbox? How come you make fun of me every time I say anything _slightly_ romantic?”

“Because nobody _talks_ like that!” Emma said frustratedly. “You weird me out!”

“I’m from a different _world,_ Emma!” he shouted. “What do you want from me?”

“To stop weirding me out!”

“You—!“ His eyes widened before he squeezed them shut tightly, pinching his forefingers to the bridge of his nose. “Oh, my God, I hate you. Oh, my _GOD,_ I hate you! You are such a—!” He stamped the ground in frustration and threw his arms out. “YOU’RE A BITCH!”

She blinked rapidly in disbelief, rendered almost speechless. “ _What_?”

“I _finally_ said it! Yeah! You’re a _bitch,_ Emma! You are a MAJOR. FUCKING. BITCH.”

She stared at him with wide eyes, slowly raising her arm to point at him accusingly. “You said the ‘F’ word,” she breathed.

“Yeah, because that is the _only_ word I can think of that even comes _close_ to describing just how much of a bitch you are!” Hook stared at her for a moment, breathing heavily. Then, his voice slightly trembling with suppressed rage—

“I do _whatever_ you want, _whenever_ you want, no questions asked. I helped you get the compass. I helped you find your kid. I saved your father from dream-shade. And then, when we got back to this stupid little piece of crap town, I _stayed._ I could have gone in my ship, and left, but I didn’t. I stayed for _you._ And ever since then—“ his voice rose—“ I’ve been _fetching you coffee_ , bringing you _lunch_ , babysitting your _kid—_ who, by the way, hates me more than the Bubonic Plague—running this errand and that errand, going here and going there, it’s always, ‘do this, Hook’, and ‘do that, Hook’, and ‘why are you such an idiot, Hook?’ and ‘isn’t it funny how he wears his heart on his sleeve, and I stamp all over it in my not-fooling-anyone-high-heeled-boots?’” He closed his eyes, and spoke more quietly. “I can’t… _take_ it anymore. I look at you and all I can think about it…”

Emma squeezed her eyes shut. _Please don’t make a romantic speech,_ please _don’t make a romantic speech._

“…I was a _pirate_ captain.”

She opened her eyes and frowned. “Huh?”

“I was a _pirate_ captain, Emma,” he wailed, his shoulders sagging. “People used to be afraid of me. I had a _reputation._ People—people used to hear my name, a-a-and start shaking. With fear.” He looked at her intensely. “ _Literally_ shaking.”

“Oh…”

“I used to walk into taverns, and people would stop talking. Just to _stare_ at how famous I was.”

“That’s…cool? I don’t—“

“And now? Now I walk around town and you know what people say? They don’t say, ‘There goes Captain Hook, the most infamous dastardly pirate captain on the high seas! He’ll stab you faster than look at you!’ They say, ‘Oh, look. There goes the guy Emma keeps stringing along, just so he’ll do stuff for her.’”

“Yes, but to be fair…” Emma looked up at him cautiously. “I _highly_ doubt anyone would have _time_ to say the first one.”

“And I’m _sick_ of doing stuff for you! I do _everything_ for you, I _gave up_ everything for you, and you don’t even blink! You just _assume_ I’ll always be there because I can’t live without you! Well, _guess what,_ darling? I managed to get through the first three hundred years without you bitching in my ear every day—I _think_ I can manage!”

He turned on his heel and started stalking off into the darkness, leaving Emma to stare after him, stunned.

“And,” he called, walking backwards for a moment, “ at least _Milah_ said _thank you!_ ”

Emma gasped. He brought up… _Milah?_

Now that was low. 

 _Okay, fine, you want to play_ that _game?_ “Oh, yeah?” she shouted. “Well, at least _Graham_ wasn’t a complete _slut!_ Who probably had Hepatitus’s A through Z! Not to mention scurvy or cabin fever or whatever the hell kind of disease pirates get from porting—docking—stopping, I DON’T KNOW THE PIRATE TERMINOLOGY, OKAY?”

“Go to hell, Emma!”

“Fine! she shouted furiously, throwing up her arms. “I _will!_ ”

She stood there, breathing heavily, until the sounds of his footsteps had faded away. 

“I’ll go to hell?” she repeated incredulously, shaking her head. “Jesus _Christ,_ Emma…what are you _doing_ to me?”

 

* * *

 

Belle glared at the T.V., her head resting in one hand, her elbow propped up on the couch. Rumple was sitting in his armchair, spooning Shredded Wheat into his mouth as he watched the screen. Belle flicked her eyes to him, staring as he dipped his spoon in the bowl—brought it to his mouth—carefully took the bite—chewed, swallowed—and dipped the spoon back in the bowl. Belle watched him, clenching her fists, trying not to scream into irritation.

“Rumple,” she said quietly.

“Mmm?”

“Rumple.”

“What?”

Belle snatched the remote and shut the T.V. off. “Could you look at me for two seconds?” she snapped. Rumple turned his head. 

“I was watching that,” he said, sounding betrayed.

“Rumple!” she flared up.

“Okay, _okay!_ ” he said irritably, and set the bowl down. “What? What’s the problem?”

“The problem is—“ she clutched at her hair, suddenly overcome by frustration—“ _this,_ Rumple! The late-night cereal! The going-to bed at eight-thirty! The staying-home every night because _Sixty Minutes_ is on! We’re an old married couple, and _I’m not even old!_ ”

Rumple stared at her in alarm, stunned by her outburst. “Okay,” he said nervously. “What do you want me to do?”

Belle threw her head into her hands exasperatedly. “Rumple,” she whined, almost about to cry from frustration. “I want to _do something._ Anything. I can’t take this, just sitting at home.” She lifted her head up. “Do you know what the highlight of my week was?” she asked, twisting her head to look at him. He didn’t answer; just watched her warily. “Taking Hook shopping.”

His features stiffened. Rumple put up with Hook for Belle’s sake, but he still didn’t like him—particularly when his wife said things like _that._ “Really.”

“You want to know why?”

Rumple narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. “Do I?”

Belle rolled her eyes. “Stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“I was getting out of the house and _doing_ something,” Belle said frustratedly. “I had a social life, for a brief moment.”

“What are you talking about? You go out every day!” Rumple argued. “You go to the library, don’t you?”

“Yes! To _work!_ ” she cried exasperatedly. “I’m not talking about work, I’m talking about getting out just for the hell of it! Rumple,” she said, lowering her voice and taking his hand, “we used to do things all the time. We’d go out for walks…have lunch… go dancing—“

“I don’t remember any of this,” Rumple frowned. 

“Because we only did that _before_ we got married,” Belle sighed. “Once we did…we just lost that—that _spark,_ you know? We stopped trying.” She was quiet for a minute, reflecting. “And you really skimped on the ceremony.”

Rumple raised his eyebrows, offended. “Are you calling me ‘cheap’?”

“That wedding sucked _ass,_ Rumple, and you know it!” she said, glaring at him. Rumple stared at her with wide eyes.

“Okay,” he said cautiously. “So, what do you want, a re-do?”

Belle looked at him, breathing heavily. “What?”

“A re-do. Do you want to re-do it?”

“Re-do what?”

“The _wedding,_ Belle,” he said, irritation creeping into his voice. “Do you want to re-do the wedding, or what?”

She blinked. “Like a… like a vow renewal?”

He waved his hand indifferently. “Yeah. Sure. Vow renewal.”

She scoffed. “We’ve only been married two years.”

“So?” he shrugged.

“So, don’t people usually wait, like, thirty years to do a vow renewal?”

Rumple closed his eyes exasperatedly. “Okay, Belle…you have two options. Vow renewal, or bitch for the rest of your life and _no_ vow renewal. What do you want?”

“Vow renewal,” she said instantly. “Of course I want a vow renewal, I was just saying—“

“Well, all _right_ then,” he said loudly. “We’ll do the vow renewal.” He switched the T.V. back on and returned to his cereal.

Belle looked at him, surprised. “You…you really want to do the vow renewal?”

He glanced over at her. “I don’t want to do the vow renewal,” he said, swallowing. “But you want to. So we’ll do it.”

She broke into a smile. “ _Rumple_ ,” she beamed, scooting closer to him so she could wrap one arm around his shoulder. He smiled, but didn’t pause in his T.V.-watching or cereal-eating. “So…you’ll let me pick out everything? My dress, the venue, the food, the flowers, the music, the—?”

“Sweetheart, what makes you think I want to pick out _any_ of that?” He put the bowl down and looked at her. “I know you didn’t get the wedding you wanted… Go nuts. Just don’t ask me for opinions, because the only part I intend to play in all this is paying  for it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You also have to be part of the ceremony, Rumple. You realize that, don’t you?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and mouthed, _Damn it._ “Of course, I realize that,” he said, opening his eyes and smiling innocently. “But apart from saying my lines—“

“Vows, dedicating your life to mine, but whatever.”

“—this is for _you._ ” He took her hand. “This is _your_ party. I’m just there to look pretty.”

Belle smiled. “Good.” She hugged him before hopping off the couch and walking toward the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Rumple called after her.

“I have to call Hook. I’m going to make him go dress-shopping with me.”

 

* * *

 

Henry frustratedly threw back the covers and glared into the darkness. He couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t been able to sleep for the past two days, ever since Regina had caught him in her vault. He had mumbled something about leaving his textbook there, managing to smuggle the magic book away under his jacket, but she still looked at him suspiciously. She hadn’t said anything about it, but Henry could tell she hadn’t let it go.

He had stowed the book under a loose floorboard in his room the second he got home, but had been too afraid to pull it out and look at it since. But it was dark now. Everyone was asleep.

No one would see him. 

He silently crept out of bed and tip-toed over to the floorboard. He eased his nails under it, flinching when it squeaked slightly. Ever so gently, he placed the board to the side and pulled out the book with shaking hands. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest as he looked down at it. 

He was reluctant to open it. Not because he was _scared_ or anything…well, maybe slightly. But it wasn’t fear keeping the book closed: it was guilt. 

Neal had taken him out for a bite earlier, so they could hang out. They hadn’t gone to Granny’s, at Henry’s request: he wasn’t quite up to seeing Ruby fawn over Hook, but all he told Neal was he was sick of the wallpaper. Neal raised his eyebrows, but didn’t pry; they went to the White Rabbit instead. It wasn’t until the waitress had brought them their burgers and fries that either of them said anything.

“You want to tell me what’s going on, kid?” Neal said, idly twisting a fry.

Henry shrugged. “Sure,” he said, stabbing holes into his burger with a fork. “After _you_ tell _me_ what’s going on.”

Neal raised an eyebrow, sizing him up. Henry stared back with half-lidded eyes, refusing to break under pressure. Neal blinked at him; Henry blinked back. There was a silence as both waited for the other to cave.

“You’re getting good,” Neal said finally, hiding a proud smile. Henry took a sip of water, so Neal wouldn’t see him grin at the compliment.  

They didn’t show emotion. They were _men._  

“All right. I’ll make you a deal,” Neal said as Henry put down his glass. “We sum it up in one sentence, we say it at the same time, and then we forget about it, okay?”

Henry nodded, considering the deal. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Okay. Count of three, all right? One…two…three—“

“Hook stole my girlfriend— _DAD!_ ”

Neal had stayed silent and was now snorting into his beer. Henry groaned and threw his head in hands, utterly humiliated. Neal laughed, reaching over to ruffle his hair. 

“Hey, it’s all right, buddy. Been _there._ ”

“You didn’t say anything,” Henry said in a muffled voice. “We were supposed to say it at the same time.”

“Come on, Henry,” Neal said, caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement.”I mean, did you really fall for that?”

“Apparently, I did,” he sighed, lifting his head. Neal smiled at him crookedly.

“So… you want to tell me who this girlfriend of yours is? And _please_ tell me she’s older than you,” he added. “I mean, I know how Hook is, but I’d hate to think he’s actually stooped to picking up fourteen-year-old girls.”

Henry picked at his food. “Ruby.”

Neal’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, so she _is_ older than you.” 

“Well, she’s not exactly my girlfriend,” Henry explained. “I just…”

“I gotcha, I gotcha,” Neal smiled, waving his hand. “So, Ruby, huh?” He nodded, considering. “Yeah, she’s cute.”

Henry looked up incredulously. “ _Cute?”_

Neal choked on his drink, and coughed. “I’m sorry,” he said as Henry stared at him in disbelief. “I meant…super-duper, burning-my-eyes-out, crazy-hot.”

“Yeah, well, Hook seems to think so,” Henry grumbled, going back to squashing his fries. Neal watched him silently.

“Do you want to…do you want to, like, talk about it…or something?”

Henry shook his head immediately. He was like his dad: talking about things didn’t help—that just drew them out for longer than they needed to be. 

Neal blew out a slow breath. “Well…”

Henry raised his eyes: Neal was scratching the back of his head, obviously hesitating. Henry frowned. “You okay?”

“I, uh… I kinda had a fight with your mom,” Neal said, avoiding Henry’s gaze. 

“About what?” He narrowed his eyes. “Not _Hook_?”

Neal scoffed. “No. Believe me, this one is on Emma.”

Henry carefully schooled his surprised expression into a bored one. “What happened?”

“Eh…” Neal shrugged dismissively. “She just…I don’t know, Henry, I shouldn’t be telling you about this.”

“Dad—“

“Nah, you got enough to worry about. I mean, some other dude stole your almost-girlfriend. That’s not cool.”

They had spent the rest of the evening thinking of creative ways to get revenge on Hook (at one point, Neal had eyed Henry warily after he came up with a particularly disturbing method of disposing of the body). Eventually, Neal walked him back to the loft; he gave him a one-armed hug.

“Don’t worry about Ruby, Henry,” he said. “She gets distracted by shiny objects, and Hook’s just another shiny object, okay?”

Henry smiled derisively. “He does wear a lot of jewelry.”

“There you go,” Neal grinned, nudging him inside. “I’ll see you tomorrow, kid.”

 _I’ll see you tomorrow, kid._ Neal’s words echoed in his brain now. Would he be able to _face_ him tomorrow? He was sitting here, holding a magic book, actually thinking about using it! After everything magic had done to destroy his father’s life…

But it was also magic that had allowed Rumple to find him again…which had allowed _Henry_ to find him. Should he really be feel guilty for using magic? Henry shook his head, trying to clear it. _Stop it,_ he told himself sternly. _You’re using guilt as an excuse to bail. Suck it up, Mills._

He wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but he had made up his mind. He threw on a hoodie and a pair of jeans, stuffed the book into his backpack along with the handful of jars and vials he had stolen from Regina’s vault, and snuck down the stairs. Emma was lying on the couch, her headphones still blaring against her slight snoring. She had fallen asleep listening to angry metal music, still seething about whatever happened earlier that night. Henry hadn’t asked because it couldn’t have had anything to do with Neal—that only left Hook, and he _really_ didn’t need to know the details of their relationship.

He eased his way out of the loft, only breathing once he had closed the door behind him. Then he raced down the stairs,worried that going any slower would have given him time to change his mind. He didn’t bother pulling out his bike; the well was in the middle of the woods, it would have been easier to just go on foot. 

He ran, jumping tree roots and fallen logs every so often, ignoring the mud spattering onto his jeans (even though he knew Regina would throw a _fit_ ). By the time he reached the well, his face was stinging with the chill of the October night. The moon was nearly full, its light shining through the tree leaves in speckled rays. 

He breathed in shakily, looking down the well. It was impossible to tell the depth of it: he could see a few feet of dimly lit stones, but after that it might as well have been a black hole. He took out the jars and vials with trembling hands, squinting in the moonlight to see what he had swiped. He hadn’t looked at labels or studied the contents at the time; he just tossed in whatever he could fit after the book. He wasn’t sure why; it just seemed to fit, once he started stealing magic to…keep on stealing.

Well, he _was_ his father’s son!

Feeling considerably more cheerful now, he placed the vials on the side of the well (carefully! He didn’t want to chance them rolling away) so he wouldn’t lose them in the grass. Lastly, he brought out the book. Henry stroked the cover, tracing the strange gold letters with his finger. Taking a deep breath, he propped it against the edge and opened it.

There was the sound of wind swirling, echoing through the depths of the well. Henry felt his heart pound. 

“Shit,” he breathed. “Did I wake something up?” He squinted, trying to see through the blackness, but as far as he could tell, there was nothing. Was that magic? Henry frowned. Should there have been some big swirly cloud or something? How was he supposed to be able to tell when he’d accomplished something?

He slumped. Maybe this was a stupid idea. He didn’t even really know what he was doing. Maybe he’d be better off sticking to storybooks and goody-two-shoeing through life. 

He closed the book and turned to grab the vials when— _“Umph!_ ”—he tripped over his stupid backpack, one of his arms flinging out to break his fall…

“SHIT!” he yelled, not caring who heard him. His arm had swung out, knocking the vials into the well. Cursing angrily, he scrambled to his feet, bending over the well as far as he could without falling in.

“Hello?” he called nervously, hardly breathing. “Hello?” He frowned, shaking his head. “Who the hell am I talking to?”

He pushed himself away from the edge, slinging his backpack on one arm. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he turned to walk away. It was a dumb idea to begin with. Why he ever thought he could actually—

“Hello?” a voice called out _._ “Hello, is someone there?”

Henry froze. That voice was too familiar…it was _impossible—_

“Hello? Please, can you help me?”

It was coming from the well.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

“So,” Belle said, chewing her burger, “Rumple told me I could have a vow renewal, and now I basically get to design the wedding I never had.”

Hook knew she was saying something, but he couldn’t concentrate. Not with her devouring that burger like she was a dragon feeding on a lion carcass. He stared at her, his mouth slightly open in disbelief. 

“Hook?” Belle frowned, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Hey.”

He blinked rapidly, startled. “Sorry, love,” he said, shaking his head to clear it. “Got distracted.”

Belle rolled her eyes and twisted in her seat to look behind her. She turned back around, frowning. “I don’t see Emma.”

“Do _not_ mention that name around me,” Hook said through clenched teeth. Belle’s eyebrows shot up.

“Ooo-ooh,” she grinned, leaning forward. “What happened?”

“Don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, come on!” she pleaded. “Please?”

“So, what was that bit about the wedding you said earlier?” he said in a tone that made it clear that no amount of begging, pleading, and/or nagging would get him to talk. Belle looked somewhat disappointed, but smiled. 

“Rumple agreed to a vow renewal.”

“Vow renewal?” Hook repeated. “What, did the first ones expire?”

“No, it’s…” Belle looked at him impatiently. “You see, this is why you should listen when I talk,” she said, pointing a stern finger at him.

Hook shrugged. “Go easy on me. I’m broken-hearted, and all that.”

“Okay, _what_ happened?”

“Nothing. Tell me about your—“ he waved his hand—“vows.”

“I get to design my _entire_ wedding, _and_ the reception, which means I get to have my dream wedding, and I’m _so_ excited! I get to pick out my _dress_ and the _food_ and the _flowers…_ ”

Belle went on about her dream wedding, which Hook supposed she was allowed to feel excited about: she’d had to settle for a simple ceremony for her original wedding and while the important thing was that _they loved each other,_ he knew Belle well enough to know…she liked her parties.

Maybe it was because she’d been isolated for so long, but Belle loved to surround herself with people and excitement and music and fun. This wedding-revival-thing-whatever seemed the perfect way—

“—want _you_ to come dress-shopping with me.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Hook smiled politely, leaning forward to hear her properly.

“I said,” Belle said loudly, “I want you to come dress-shopping with me.”

Hook’s smile faded. “Why in the name of God would you want me to go dress-shopping with you?”

“Well—“ Belle sat back, wiping her mouth—“you’re the closest thing I’ve got to a girlfriend, and a bride always takes her girlfriends dress-shopping. And I know you’re not busy because…” She gave him a snarky smile and shrugged. “I’m the closest thing _you_ have to a girlfriend.”

Hook scratched his nose. “Actually, uh…”

Belle paused in her chewing and stared at him, her eyes growing wide. “Oh, my God,” she said, breaking into a smile. “Oh, my _God!_ Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me—“

“Belle, please, _lower your voice,_ ” he begged. Belle shook her head, still chanting, “Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me—“

“Everything okay here?” Ruby came over, holding the coffee dispensers in each hand. The smile slid off Belle’s face and settled into a grimace. “Belle? More coffee?”

The smile reappeared, looking fake and forced. “No, thanks.” Ruby turned to Hook, smiling uncertainly, the incident from last night still dangling between them.

“More coffee?”

Hook smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “Thanks, I’m still working on this one,” he said, holding up his cup. Ruby smiled back, more warmly this time. 

“Okay. I’ll come back around.” 

Hook turned his head to watch her go, smiling slightly. He didn’t know Ruby very well yet. She seemed nice, if a bit talkative. Very pretty… _not_ very bright. A sweet girl, he decided as he turned around, but tended to be—

“Christ!” He jumped at Belle’s glare. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“ _Ruby_?” she hissed. “You’re going out with _Ruby_?”

“I didn’t say that,” he said, looking down.

“Are you going out with her?” she pressed. Hook shrugged.

“Ish.”

“Unbelievable,” Belle scoffed, throwing her arms up. 

“Now, wait,” he said defensively as she started muttering things like, “I should have known!” and “that _slut!_ ”. “ _You_ were the one who told me to move on and stop pining after Emma, I’m just taking your advice.”

“ _Ruby?_ ” Belle looked furious. “Really? Ruby? She’s the biggest slut in town, _including you._ ”

Hook’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God.” He leaned forward, grinning. “Is she really?”

“Oh, you’re _disgusting_ ,” Belle scowled as he sat back, laughing. 

“Yeah, I s’spose,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Can I ask—why do you hate her so much?”

“I don’t want to go into it right now,” she said darkly, picking up her burger. “We need to discuss dress-shopping.”

“Why don’t you take Tink or something?” Hook said exasperatedly. Belle choked on her burger as she started laughing. He raised an eyebrow. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” she gasped, reaching for her glass. “It’s nothing…just something Robin said. Go on about Tink?”

He frowned. “Why, what’d Robin say?”

“Nothing, nothing, pssh—“ she flapped a hand, scoffing—“don’t worry about it. So.  We’re going to dress-shopping, okay?”

“I don’t want—“

“We’re going dress-shopping,” she said loudly. “This is a big deal for me, okay? I need you to have your game-face on. “

“My game-face?” Hook fixed her with a mock-stern look. “Belle, I assure you…there is nothing wrong with my face.  Ask Ruby.”

“Would you shut up?” Belle said witheringly. “If you’re going to behave like this, I won’t take you for ice cream after.”

“I’m not a child, Belle. I can buy my own ice cream.”

“Are you going to help me or not?” She looked at him seriously. Hook blinked; he hadn’t realized she was taking this whole dress-thing to heart. And, damn it, she was working those sad blue eyes, wheedling him silently. _You wouldn’t deny me this tiny favor, would you? Look how cute and sweet I am. I’m like a teacup poodle that you just want to snuggle for the rest of your life, aren’t I?_

“Don’t look at me like that. Belle, _please_ don’t look at me like that.”

“I don’t have a lot of friends.”

“No, don’t—”

“God knows I don’t ask you for much…”

“I’m serious. I’m not going to—“

“You’re my best friend.”

Hook squeezed his eyes shut, cursing. “Oh, all _right!_ ” he groused. Belle clapped her hands happily. “BUT,” he added, holding up a finger, “on _one_ condition.”

Belle frowned, tilting her head. “Okay…” she said slowly.

Hook met her scrutinizing gaze without flinching. “I get to bring Ruby.”

“What, to my party?” Belle shrugged. “She’s going to be catering anyway, so—“

“No. I get to bring her dress-shopping.” Hook leaned back and folded his arms, staring back at Belle’s outraged face evenly. “Those are my terms. I bring Ruby, and offer insightful advice on your ridiculous dresses. Or I don’t bring Ruby, because I’m not going myself.”

Belle glared at him as though she could burn his very soul just by concentrating. _Do not succumb,_ he told himself. _Do not be intimidated. She is half your size, you are_ not _afraid of her._ He set his jaw and glared back fiercely.

“Fine,” she growled. “Bring your stupid girlfriend, I don’t care. You think I care? I don’t. _This_ is the face of someone not caring. Okay? Okay. _OWW._ ” She suddenly lurched over the table, her face contorted in pain as she clutched her stomach. Hook was alarmed, getting up to check on her.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong, that’s the sound I make when I’m overwhelmed with joy,” she spat, starting to look a little green. Hook carefully eased her into a standing position, allowing her to lean on him (but not too close, in case she vomited). 

“I told you,” he muttered. “You always get the burger, I _told_ you to get the fish.”

“I like the burger,” she winced. “And you can get food poisoning from fish.”

“I’ve never gotten food poisoning once. You get it twice a week.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Stop being ridiculous.” He opened the door for her. “Wait for me outside, I’m going to pay the bill.”

“With money, I hope?” she said, unable to leave without making a parting snide remark. “You don’t have some sort of sexual-favors-deal going with that slut, do you?”

“ _No…_ but I should really look into that, don’t you think?”

“You’re disgusting,” she said again as he tried to hide his smile. The door closed and he turned on his heel, looking toward the counter. Ruby was refilling sugar containers at the counter by the register. He sauntered over, smiling winningly.

Ruby glanced up at the sound of him approaching, and smiled. “Hey,” she said, not pausing in her work.

He held up the bill. “Think you can work your magic again and exchange some doubloons for that silly green paper?”

“Yeah, give me a sec,” she said, her smile fading slightly.  Awkwardly, Hook tapped on the counter with his fingers, drumming out a rhythmless mess of noise. Ruby flicked her eyes over, but said nothing as she concentrated on her sugar containers. He scratched the back of his head nervously.

“Ruby…uh…”

“Oh, God,” she sniffed, and out of nowhere, she was _crying._ Crying! How did that happen? Startled, Hook watched her hold her fingers under her eyes to keep her mascara from running. “I knew it. You’re breaking up with me.”

“What?” he said weakly.

“You’re breaking up with me!” she wailed. “I should have seen this coming after last night, I _knew_ it!”

“After last…? What, because of Emma?”

Ruby nodded miserably.  Hook dropped onto a stool.

“Give me a little credit, love,” he said, stung. “I’m not her lapdog. I told her off last night, I told her off _good._ ”

She looked up, giving him a watery smile. “You did?”

“I most _certainly_ did!” he said, nodding emphatically. “She can’t go around, behaving like a crazy woman, and expect people to take it.”

Ruby let out a shaky laugh. “I was just worried last night was going to end up like one of those romantic comedies, where the crazy couple has this big huge jealous-fest and this big huge argument and then they end up making out in the rain—“

“Okay, you lost me,” Hook said, crinkling his brow. “Who was this?”

Her smile faded. “No, I meant, like…movies and stuff.”

 _“Oh…_ okay, yeah. I got it, I got it,” he nodded, still not entirely sure he _did_ get it. “So, listen…Belle’s dragging me along to go dress-hunting for her, er…I don’t know, it’s like a wedding-type-thing, but she’s getting married to the same person…?”

Ruby raised an eyebrow. “What, Mr. Gold? _Why?”_

“Careful,” he said warningly. “I found out the hard way—don’t ask her that. Anyways, I told her the only way I’d go is if you came along. I mean, when it comes to dresses—“ he leaned forward, lowering his voice—“I have a very different skill set than the one she’s looking for.”

Ruby laughed, by this time a _very_ familiar sound. Hook felt his smile tense. Okay, so maybe Ruby was a _little_ annoying at times. He could handle that. That was fine.

Even if her laugh grated on his ears.

 _Stop that,_ he ordered himself. _You’re just trying to find things wrong with her because she’s not Emma._

“So, what do you say, love?” he grinned. “You want to come, keep me company…maybe take over my duties, since I have no idea what I’m supposed to do?”

Ruby looked over her shoulder at Granny taking an order down. Hook stiffened: the old woman rather terrified him now. “I’ll ask Granny.”

“Ah, yeah…Granny. Lovely woman…I’ll wait outside, all right?”

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

“So,” Robin said, wincing against the uncomfortable metal bench. 

“So,” Neal replied, playing with a small hole in his scarf.

Roland let out a squeal as Little John poked his head into the entrance of the slide and did “the monster noise”. They could hear him scampering back up the slide, giggling delightedly.

“So, how are you?” Robin tried again.

“Peachy. You?”

“I’m…hanging in there.”

Neal looked over. Robin looked tired: there were bags under his eyes, and his face seemed drained of color. Neal had figured that was just a side effect of having a toddler, but something in his voice made Neal think that Robin was exhausted in more than one way.

“How’s Regina?”

“She’s…” Robin pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose, and sighed. “She’s…”

“You two aren’t breaking up, are you?” Neal asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“No, no, no…nothing like that,” Robin said, shaking his head. “But the honeymoon period can only last forever. Regina and I have been together for, what…’bout a year and a half now? Sometimes, it’s just… you know.”

Neal nodded slowly. Robin templed his fingers and rested them against his mouth, blowing out a slow breath. 

“So, uh, how’re things with Emma?”

Neal rubbed his eyes. “Nonexistent, at the moment.”

Robin raised his eyebrows. “You two ended things?”

“Can’t really end things when there _aren’t_ things,” Neal said pointedly. “I just got tired of her stringing me along. The important thing is,” he said, holding up a finger, “I see Henry. If she and Hook want to keep acting like a couple of teenagers, they’re going to have to play without me, because I’m done with the love triangle bullshit.”

Robin blinked a few times. “Wow,” he said finally. “Sounds like someone needs to talk about their fee…” He trailed off as Neal stared at him with half-lidded eyes, daring him to keep talking. “Never mind.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching Roland scramble up the playground stairs, chased by Little John. 

“So, my dad called me this morning,” Neal said, breaking the silence. “He and Belle are doing a vow-renewal-thing.”

“Vow renewal?” Robin repeated, creasing his forehead. “Is that the thing where you get married all over again?”

Neal shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Robin tilted his head, speaking cautiously. “Isn’t…isn’t that sort of a waste of time?”

“Meh,” Neal said. “Free cake, so I’m not complaining.”

“Well, there _is_ that,” Robin agreed. “Roland loves cake.”

“Roland and I have that in common.”

Another awkward silence fell. Neal lolled his head back, looking at the sky. Why had he agreed to this? It wasn’t like he and Robin were great friends on their own: they were only friends through Hook now. Hook had met Robin through Belle, and after an evening of reminiscing about the good old days of thieving and looting and slutting around in general, they became fast friends. 

 It was supposed to be the three of them that morning, and Neal had really been looking forward to venting with Hook about how entitled and spoiled Emma was…but then Hook had called and bailed on  them because Belle was dragging him along for mysterious errands. Robin had half-heartedly suggested they could still hang out; Neal had half-heartedly agreed. 

So here they were. In hell.

Robin coughed. “I must say, I’m surprised that you and Hook haven’t killed each other yet. I mean…that was two years of that Emma rivalry.” He  fiddled with a string on his jacket, waiting for Neal to say something.

Honestly, he wasn’t even sure how to answer. There was a lot of bad history between him and the pirate. Rumple blamed Hook for Milah leaving and making Neal grow up without a mother; then there was the incident where Hook had handed him over to the Lost Boys—not very nice at all; and of course, Hook had decided that he simply _had_ to have the same woman Neal loved—the friggin’ mother of his child, actually. And yet, even with all that, they managed to salvage a sort of friendship.

“Neal?” Robin prodded.

Neal shook himself out of his thoughts, feeling annoyed with Robin. What did he think, he was going to share his _feelings_ and they were going to talk about them over a cup of coffee or something? “What are we, girlfriends? I’m not talking to you about this,” he scoffed. 

Robin shrugged. “I noticed you didn’t correct me when when I said _was_.”

Neal raised an eyebrow.

“ _Was_ …as in, past tense.”

“Yeah?”

“Implying…” Robin shifted in his seat, uncomfortable under Neal’s skeptical gaze. “Implying that the Emma rivalry is in the past?”

Neal stared at him. “Robin,” he said carefully. “This is starting to get weird.”

“Right.” Robin seemed embarrassed, but Neal pressed on.

“I have no intention of talking to you about my feelings.”

“‘Course not.”

“And I’m… _kind of_ judging you right now.”

“I got that.”

“A lot, Robin. I’m judging you a lot.”

“I can tell.”

“Do you and Hook talk about your feelings a lot? Is this a thing I’m not a part of?”

“Well, it’s come up before, but—“

“Okay, so why don’t we save the _feelings_ stuff for you and Hook?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

Another heavy silence fell. Neal tapped his fingers listlessly on the bench. Robin picked at his nails. 

“Perhaps you could call—“

“Robin.”

“Sorry.”

There was no way he was going to call Emma. There was an unspoken agreement between him and Hook: Emma let both of them follow her around like puppy dogs, not caring that she was sabotaging the friendship they salvaged by pitting them against each other over her. Now, it was time she got what was coming to her. Let her sweat a little.

“I think,” Robin said, apparently trying to change the subject, “that the, er… basketball team is doing splendidly this season, don’t you?”

Neal frowned at him in confusion. “The hell are you talking about?”

Robin blinked a few times. “The basketball team?”

“What basketball team?”

“Christ, I don’t know!” Robin said, throwing up his hands exasperatedly. “I don’t even know what basketball _is!_ ”

“Then why are you talking about it?”

“I’m… _trying_ to make conversation,” Robin said, struggling to remain patient. “Clearly failing, but there you are.”

Neal was saved the trouble of responding when his phone vibrated, alerting him to a text. He glanced down, raising an eyebrow when he saw it was from Hook:

_Save me. Call my phone, so I can pretend it’s an emergency._

He frowned, and typed back: _Where are you?_

_Hell. Just call._

Neal tilted his head, considering. On the one hand, he and Hook had reached an alliance… but on the other hand, everything else. Yeah, he wasn’t going to help that pretty-boy pirate, he decided, tucking his phone back in his jacket pocket. Besides, he was already having so much fun with Robin.

They watched Roland play a little bit more.

“Oh, my God, this is so boring,” Neal groaned.

 

* * *

 

Hook glanced down at his phone again, willing it to ring. What the hell was Neal _doing?_ He had texted twenty minutes ago, and there was still no fake emergency call!

He had to get out of here. This white, fluffy, lacy hell, he had to get OUT.

Right now, he was chained to a bench outside the dressing rooms with Ruby, waiting for Belle to reappear in a white gown that looked exactly the same as every other white gown she put on. And that was really the most frustrating thing: every single dress looked _exactly_ like the dress before it, as far as he could tell. But he had to say something different every time, or Belle would complain that he wasn’t paying attention. 

And then, every time he said, “Oh, there. That one looks nice, get that one.”, she would wrinkle her nose and say, “Really? I don’t know…” and try on another dress. And then if he said, “Oh, you’re right, it’s dreadful. Get a different one.”, she would tilt her head and stare at herself in the mirror, swirling the skirt around her for twenty minutes before deciding to look at another.

Ruby, meanwhile, was saying important, educated-sounding things like, “Ooh, I like the neckline on that one!” or “That’s an interesting cut, but maybe a little too boxy.” But Belle only glowered and looked at Hook and said, “What do _you_ think?” And then, of course, he’d have to say, “Right, yeah…the neckline. Brilliant.”

Belle came out in the tenth dress she picked out, holding either side of the skirt so she wouldn’t trip. The consultant was talking some nonsense that he chose not to listen to, while Ruby nodded in agreement. 

“What do you think?” Belle asked him, twirling as much as she could manage in the ridiculous thing.

Hook glanced at the dress—once again, identical to all the others—and back up at Belle. She was positively beaming, so he figured she had to be happy about it; that meant it had to be better than the others, in some imperceptible way.

“It’s perfect.”

The smile slid off her face. “I already _tried_ this one on!” she snapped. “I _knew_ you weren’t paying attention!”

“What do you want from me?” he asked through clenched teeth. “What do you _want_ me to say?”

“I want you to give me your honest opinion!” she glared.

“My honest opinion? My honest opinion is that, I can’t tell the difference between one useless mess of lace and the next. And my honest opinion is that _you_ don’t pay attention, because I told you at least five times since this morning, _I don’t know how to pick out a bloody wedding dress!_ ”

Belle narrowed her eyes dangerously and her her mouth tightened to a thin line. “Right,” she said shortly. “Well, then. I suppose you could always just _leave._ ” Her tone made it very clear, he absolutely could _not_ leave. Hook looked down at his feet, ashamed that he was quailing under this tiny little woman. _This is Emma’s fault,_ he thought bitterly.

Belle was surprisingly intimidating for such a small person, but the old Hook—the _fearsome Captain Hook—_ would never have stood for this. Emma had broken him. Ever since Neverland, when she started wrapping him around her finger. Well, okay, maybe a little before that. Maybe…meh, the second he saw her when he got little butterflies in his tummy because she was the prettiest, most beautifulest, awesomest, wonderfulest, amazingest, holy-shit-she’s-so-cool-God-I-hope-likes-me-est person ever, and he would kill his own mother if she asked him to.

Whoa. That was fucked up. 

But it wasn’t his fault. Hook knew himself: he was a hopeless romantic. Even as a vicious blackhearted pirate, he still secretly swooned over the fact that his quest for revenge against Rumplestiltskin was for _love:_ tragically romantic, like Romeo and Juliet—except not, because only one of them died in his story, because he wasn’t a dumb-ass like Romeo. 

But even for all that, he could still keep his shit together. Around the men, he was tough as nails; he drank hard liquor like it was mother’s milk; he ripped men’s inside’s out without flinching—sometimes with his _bare hands_ (well, okay, not his bare hands, but still….not flinching? That was pretty good). And then he met Emma. And suddenly, everything else was unimportant, and all that mattered was her.

And that bitch _knew it._

Oh, did she know it! True, he did remind her at least three times a day, but she took advantage of his feelings and used them to manipulate him into doing all this shit for her. Not to mention, she kept giving him these crazy mixed signals! She’d smile one minute, then snap at him the next; he’d earn a chuckle, then get in trouble because she couldn’t believe he was “actually goofing off at a time like this!”; then there was that time where they totally made out in Neverland, and then she kind of just shrugged and said, “Yeah, no, one-time-thing, man”, like what the _fuck_ was up with that? And then she has the the nerve to get between his bro-ship with Neal? It was _amazing_ they could even be in the same room together without Neal tearing him apart, let alone be friends! And she actually got in the middle of that and allowed them to rekindle their animosity over her? Selfish little…. He shook his head. That was probably why Neal hadn’t given him the emergency call. He could almost forgive him for that. He was still going to beat the ever-loving shit out of him when he got home, but he could forgive him. 

What was it about Emma that made him let her do this to him? It wasn’t like she was the only beautiful woman he knew (for example, Regina was, like, day _-um,_ woman!) Emma wasn’t exactly the most affectionate person he knew. She wasn’t very nice. Actually, she was pretty bossy. And entitled. Kind of spoiled, if he was going to be honest. A bit self-centered, maybe. She didn’t seem to care about his feelings. She didn’t really seem interested in his inner pain and turmoil. She didn’t even seem to like him _platonically_ sometimes, let alone romantically. It was almost like he was… a trophy husband?

 _Oh, God,_ he thought, horrified. This is what he had become. The youngest lieutenant in the King’s navy turned infamous pirate, the most bloodthirsty, badass motherfucker around…and he was now sitting in a little dress shop in Maine, standing there to look pretty and hold purses. 

“INCONCEIVABLE!” he shouted, pounding his fist. 

“Sir?” the consultant said, whose name tag read: MOLLY. “Sir, I need to ask you to lower your voice.”

“Right. Sorry. Just… just feeling a bit overwhelmed.”

Molly smiled. “Pre-wedding jitters are totally normal, you’re fine. Honestly, we don’t get a lot of grooms in here, so if you want—”

“ _Whoa,_ whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, _whoa_ ,” Belle said, holding up a hand. “We’re not—“ She looked at Hook, scoffing. “I mean, no. Just no. No. I can’t even, how much NO is contained in that statement. He is so _not_ the groom.”

“I am not the groom,” Hook affirmed, shaking his head. 

“Like, I would kill myself if he were the groom.”

“Okay, well, that’s a strong statement, let’s not—“

“Not if he were the last person on earth—“

“Yes, we GET it, thanks—“

“I’m practically throwing up in my brain—“

“OH, MY GOD. See _this_ is why, I would never marry her,” he hissed to Molly. She crinkled her forehead.

“So if you’re not the groom…who are you?” she asked, looking between them.

“He’s my mister-of-honor,” Belle said matter-of-factly. Molly raised her eyebrows.

“I’m sorry….did you say, _mister-of-honor?_ ”

“It’s like a maid-of-honor, but it’s a guy,” Belle explained. “I don’t have a lot of girlfriends—just this dumb jabroni.” She punched his arm, rather roughly.

“Yeah, could we cool it with the bro-punches?” he winced, rubbing his arm. 

“Oh, come on. I’m like half your size, that doesn’t hurt.”

“Would my face be doing _this_ if it didn’t?” he snapped, pointing to his pain-contorted expression. 

“Anyway,” Belle said, turning back to Molly. “I’m not getting married, exactly. I’m doing a vow renewal. With my husband who is not him,” she added unnecessarily, pointing to Hook.

“Oh,” Molly said, nodding. “I see…”

“Do misters-of-honor typically wear something special?” Belle asked, looking concerned. 

“Honestly, I can’t say I’ve ever come across any misters-of-honor, so I wouldn’t know.”

Belle looked Hook up and down, frowning slightly. “You should still make sure you wear something nice.”

“Belle, I swear to God, if you start with this _something nice_ bullshit again, you can find yourself a different mister-of-honor. _Which,_ by the way, is one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Belle slit her eyes in cold fury. “ _I_ think,” she said through clenched teeth, “I need to find another dress.”

“Well, hurry up!” Hook called after her as she flounced away, dragging Molly with her. “Because I’m leaving in ten minutes, _with or without you!_ ”he shouted as she disappeared into the dressing rooms. Huffing angrily, he folded his arms, glaring at the clock. Ruby tapped her fingers irritably on the table. He rolled his eyes: clearly, he was supposed to notice.

“What?”

“You have been ignoring me all day!” she snapped, getting right to the point. Hook raised his eyebrows.

“It’s not a date, Ruby. I told you, I don’t know the first thing about wedding dresses.”

“So that’s it? That’s the only reason you brought me? I thought you wanted to spend time together, to make up for last night!”

Hook closed his eyes impatiently. God _damn_ , her voice was shriek-y. “Ruby,” he said, trying to remain calm, “this is not a great time. Can we talk about this later?”

“I don’t know!” Ruby said, throwing up her arms. “Which one of your other girlfriends will be joining us on _that_ outing? Hmm? Let’s see…we’ve had Emma, that was _fun._ And today with Belle, my sides are _still fucking splitting!_ So, who’s next? Huh? Huh? Who?”

He stared at her with wide eyes. “You’re insane,” he said, stunned. “You’re literally insane.”

Ruby’s jaw dropped. “How dare you!” she said furiously. “How _insensitive_ can you be?! It is a _full moon_ tomorrow, and you’re—OH!” She stalked away, seething, shoving past people and shouting all the way out. Hook stared after her bemusedly. What the _hell?_

Belle walked out of the dressing room, holding her skirt gingerly. “Okay, so _this_ one…” She frowned, looking around. “Where’s your slut girlfriend?”

“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “She left. She went absolutely ballistic because of… I don’t even know, I tune her out when she’s talking. But she was shouting about the full moon and then—“ he made an explosion sound. Belle nodded knowingly.

“Ah, yeah… the full moon.”

“What’s so terrible about the full moon?” he said bewilderedly. Belle motioned Molly away, and took Ruby’s vacant seat.

“See… oh, how do I say this delicately? Ruby eats people.”

“ _Excuse me?”_

“She’s a werewolf. She turns into a wolf at the full moon and eats people.”

Hook blinked a few times. He knew the words coming out of Belle’s mouth, but they weren’t connecting. It sounded like, she was suggesting that Ruby turned into a wolf. That was almost stupider than being a mister-of-honor. “Come again?”

Belle raised her eyebrows. “This isn’t really a difficult concept,” she said, speaking slowly as though he were very dim-witted. “Ruby is a werewolf. I don’t know how to explain it more than that.”

“I need a drink,” he said shakily, patting his jacket for his flask. “I need a million drinks, actually. Can we  go to a bar? I need to drain a bar of all its alcohol, can we _please_ go to a bar?” He downed his rum in one go: Belle looked impressed. “I need to drink stuff that is going to destroy my liver. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I-I think—“

“I don’t think you understand how much I need to drink right now. I need to drink so much, my hangover won’t be here until next week.”

“Okay. We’ll go to a bar and drink.” She patted his shoulder. “We’ll finish this another time.”

He glared at her, making her sigh.

“ _Fine_ ,” she said reluctantly. “Me and Tink will do this another time.”

“Good answer,” he said darkly.

“You’re so angsty,” she complained, standing up. “You are going to be the _worst_ mister-of-honor…”

 


	10. Chapter 10

Whale stared at the ceiling, barely registering his alarm clock obnoxiously beeping. How had he gotten himself into this situation, into this _impossible_ situation?

Henry had shown up at his door at four in the morning, his clothes streaked with mud, a panicked expression on his face. “Dr. Whale?” he had said shakily, sounding more scared than Whale had ever heard him. “I, uh… I did a thing.”

“Henry, do you know what time it is?” Whale said, wincing at the glare from the outside lights. “Come on, kid, I got rounds to make in a few hours.”

“Trust me, you’re going to want to see this,” Henry said breathlessly, and yanked a tall figure by the arm onto the porch. Whale blinked several times, certain that his exhaustion was making his mind play tricks on him.

It was Sheriff Graham.

“But—“ Whale felt his heart clutch as his throat closed. He forced himself to breathe in shakily, staring with wide eyes at a man who _he pronounced dead four years ago._ “How is this— _Henry!”_ he gasped. “He’s _on my porch!_ ”

“I know,” Henry said, trembling. “He’s alive. I-I-I brought him back. I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to bring him,” he said, sounding close to tears. “I just thought—Frankenstein, dead Graham walking… I thought you could help?”

“But this is insane,” Whale whimpered, going weak at the knees. “How is— _what?_ ”

“Just let me bring him inside, I’ll explain everything,” Henry pleaded.

“Can he speak? Can he think?” Whale asked, staring as Henry pulled Graham inside and brought him to the couch. “Is he—is he dangerous?”

“No, he’s…” Henry shook his head, still stunned. “He’s exactly as he was before. It’s like he’s been sleeping this whole time.”

“But how?” he wailed, flopping into his chair. “This is _madness._ ”

“No,” Henry said, taking a deep breath. “It’s magic.”

“I’m so confused,” Graham said. Whale shrieked at the sound of his voice, drawing his legs up protectively. 

“Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God,” he whimpered, putting his head in his hands. “He’s sitting on my couch. He’s actually sitting on my couch.”

“I brought him back with the well,” Henry said, not acknowledging the fact the Whale’s mind was coming apart at the seams. “I think one of the vials I stole from my mom’s vault had Graham’s ashes in it or something, and it fell into the well.”

“The well?” Whale said weakly, still staring at Graham, who was blinking around in confusion.

“Where things once lost are returned? It’s connected to Lake Nostos. I think that’s what revived Graham.” Henry bit his lip. “But it only worked because I woke it up again.”

“Well, why did you do something like _that?_ ” Whale said, nearly sobbing. Henry blinked rapidly, his eyes looking very shiny.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice quivering. “I just… I had the book…and it worked…and then…” He looked at the sheriff, and gestured with a flop of his hand. Graham didn’t look up: he was examining his hand, turning it over and flexing the fingers. 

“You have to tell your mother. Or your grandfather. Or your other mother. Someone with magic, Henry, I’m just a doctor.”

“No!” Henry insisted, standing up. “You’re Dr. Frankenstein! You brought people back from the dead!”

“It didn’t _work,_ Henry, that was the whole _point_ of that movie!” Whale cried. “And me, I didn’t bring anyone back! It was Rumplestiltskin’s magic that did it, not my science! Take him to your grandfather!”

“Please, Dr. Whale,” Henry  said desperately. “Just for  few days, until I figure out how to deal with this. Please.”

Whale sighed, rubbing his eyes. He didn’t particularly like children,but he’d always had a soft spot for Henry. Maybe because he was the first kid to _die_ on him, and he felt guilty about it, but either way, it was tough to say no to that face.

“Fine,” he said at last. “Just a few days.”

Henry broke into a smile so grateful, Whale almost didn’t regret his decision. But now, laying his bed, staring at the ceiling with wide, terrified eyes, he definitely did.

“Dr. Whale?” There was a knock at his door. “I think your alarm’s going off.”

“Yes, thank you, Sheriff,” he croaked. He raised a wobbly hand and slapped the snooze button. He’d get up eventually, but right now, he needed to lay here and regret his life choices.

By the time he had pulled himself together, it was light outside. He considered calling in, but then realized he’d have to spend the day with Graham. That changed his mind quick enough. As he poured himself a cup of coffee, he looked over at the couch, where Graham had slept: the no-longer-late sheriff was flipping through a magazine, a most serene zombie. 

He walked toward him awkwardly. “Can, uh—“ he cleared his throat. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”

“Oh, coffee would be great,” Graham said, putting down the magazine. Whale nodded.

“Okay. I hope you don’t mind drinking out of a foam cup. I only have—“ he lifted his mug—“you know, just the one cup.”

Graham raised his eyebrows. “You only own one cup?”

“Do I look like the kind of guy who has someone to drink coffee with in the morning on a regular basis?” Whale said irritably. Graham offered him a weak smile.

“Oh, come on,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “You’re a great guy…”

“I’m not, actually.”

“I suppose not,” he sighed.

* * *

 

Whale spent the day in a daze, with nurses chasing him to make sure he didn’t accidentally kill any patients. Eventually, the hospital administrator called him in and told him to go home, before he got them knee-deep in lawsuits. 

He didn’t go straight home: he needed a drink before he went home to face _a fucking zombie_. He stumbled into the White Rabbit, taking a seat a few stools down from Hook and Belle.

“Little early for you guys to be drinking, isn’t it?” he asked in a monotone.

“He’s having a rough day,” Belle said, nudging her friend sympathetically. “Emma stuff.”

“No, it’s _Ruby_ stuff,” Hook insisted. “She’s a wolf-thingy, who eats people! I mean—“ he looked at Whale wildly, breathing fast—“did you know about this? Did you know she _turns into a wolf?_ ”

“Yeah,” Whale said tiredly.

“A _fucking_ wolf?” he said shrilly.

“You’re saying you’re upset about Ruby, I think you’re upset about Emma,” Belle said firmly. “In fact, I think you should tell me about what happened last night, so we can get you past your Emma issues.”

“Sure. _Or_ you could tell me why you want Ruby’s head on a spike, so we can get _you_ past your Ruby issues.”

Belle pursed her lips. “I don’t like this game.” 

The bartender passed Whale his drink. “Thanks,” he muttered, downing it. He waited. 

Nope. He didn’t feel any better.

“What about you, mate?” Hook said, leaning forward to see him past Belle. “You seem very distressed.”

“Yeah, you want to drink with us?” Belle asked. “We were going to play ‘Never Have I Ever’.”

“That’s okay, guys. I think I’m going to just go home and curl up with a bottle of vodka.”

“We can drink vodka here,” Hook said immediately. “I’ll drink vodka. I’ll drink anything right now.”

“No, no… I think I’m going to take off.” Whale got up from his stool and tossed a few bills on the counter. “See you, Vince.”

“Who’s Vince?” he heard Hook ask in a loud whisper.

“The bartender, you dumb jabroni.”

“Okay, _where_ did you pick up that word? You have been calling me that all day,” was the last thing Whale heard before the door closed behind him. 

He didn’t remember getting into his car and driving home, but he must have because five minutes later, he was stepping out of his car and walking up the steps, staring glassy-eyed in front of him. How any of this was possible, he still didn’t know. Magic was seriously _fucked up_ , he decided, opening the door. 

An unfamiliar smell wafted through the air. Whale frowned, sniffing. Was that… _cooking?_

He wandered into the kitchen, still frowning in confusion. This house had never had food cooking in it. Whale didn’t know how to cook: he’d never had time to learn, choosing to content himself with Ramen noodles or takeout. But there was definitely something cooking now.

Graham was at the stove, humming to himself as he stirred a pan. Whale stopped, staring at the strange scene before him. 

“What the…?”

Graham turned around. “Dr. Whale, you’re home early,” he said pleasantly, turning back to the stove. “I’m not nearly finished preparing dinner yet.”

Whale sank into a chair. “You’re cooking?”

Graham looked concerned. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I just thought you’d be hungry—“

“You were dead less than twenty-four hours ago and you’re cooking?” Whale stared at him open-mouthed. “Are you real?”

“Er… yes, I think so.” Graham hesitantly offered him a spoon. “Rice pilaf?”

Whale took the spoon, numbly staring at it. He looked back at Graham, unable to fathom his existence, even as he stood before him, humbly awaiting his opinion on the rice.

“Aren’t you going to taste it?” he asked, smiling nervously.

Whale looked back at the spoon before putting it in his mouth. “Unbelievable,” he said. “It’s delicious. A dead guy made this, and it’s delicious.”

Graham’s smile twitched. “Actually, I’d appreciate it if you stopped calling me ‘dead’. I _was_ dead. But as you can clearly see, I’m not now.” He gently tugged the spoon out of Whale’s grasp.

“But _how?_ ” Whale looked at him helplessly. “How are you here? I pronounced you dead _myself.”_

“Your guess is as good as mine. The last thing I remember before waking up at the bottom of a well is collapsing in the sheriff’s station.” Graham turned the stove on low, and sat down in the chair across from Whale. “I didn’t even know I had died at all, until Henry explained it to me. It’s funny,” he chuckled, “I didn’t even recognize him at first. Last time I saw Henry, he was a little boy.”

“Do you remember…everything, everything?”

Graham took a deep breath. “I got my memories back right before I… you know. Henry  caught me up on Regina, but frankly, I still have my doubts on how much she’s changed. I pity this Robin; from what I remember, she was a very difficult woman to deal with. He didn’t say much about Emma, though.” He looked at Whale hopefully.

“Oh. Her. Uh…” Whale rubbed his eyes, searching his brain for any of his nurses’ Emma-related gossip still lingering there.  “Let’s see… she’s living with her parents now… Henry goes between her and Regina…something about Hook and Neal—“

“Who?” Graham frowned.

“Her boyfriends or whatever, I don’t really know the situation there. Uh, she’s sheriff now, so I don’t know how you two are going to work that one out. And uh… yeah, that’s about it.”

“Hook and Neal,” Graham said slowly, as if trying the names out. “Hook… and Neal..”

“Yeah. Neal is Henry’s dad, and Hook is some pirate guy she brought back from the Enchanted Forest because she thought he was cute, or something. I don’t know,” Whale shrugged. “I don’t ask questions anymore.”

Graham nodded, breathing in sharply. “I see.”

Whale looked toward the pan hopefully. “So… how long does rice pilaf cook?”

“And Neal is Henry’s father?” he asked suddenly. 

Whale looked at him with wide eyes. “Yeah…” he said slowly. “But that rice pilaf, though.”

“Is he from the Enchanted Forest? I don’t remember any _Neal’_ s.”

“He’s Rumplestiltskin’s son. So, that rice—“

“Baelfire?” Graham’s eyes bugged out. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious. May I—?” Whale got up and walked to the stove. Graham swiveled in his chair, still talking.

“How does that even work? Rumplestiltskin is Henry’s _grandfather_?”

“He’s pretty mellow right now,” Whale said around a mouthful of rice. “Ever since he got married.”

“Married?” Graham’s voice rose an octave. “To who?”

“Belle. Damn, this is good.”

“Belle?” he repeated. “Who is Belle? I don’t remember a Belle!”

“Well, you wouldn’t. She was still locked in the asylum when you were kicking around.”

“ _What?_ ” Graham stared at him with wide eyes. Whale scrambled to explain. 

“No, no, she’s not crazy. Regina just had her locked in there to hide her.”

“ _Why?_ That poor woman, that’s—that’s horrible! Why would she do something like that?”

“I don’t know,” Whale shrugged, spooning some more rice into his mouth. “She had her locked in her dungeons back in the Enchanted Forest, too. Wanted to hide her from Rumplestiltskin or something. Or maybe it was Hook.” He frowned, trying to scrape together the story, then gave up. “I don’t remember. Hook broke in at some point, but I don’t know if he was trying to kill her or rescue her.”

“And Emma finds this man cute?” Graham said disbelievingly. 

“Uh-huh,” Whale nodded, chewing. Graham sat back, looking stunned.

“I am _so_ confused,” he said, shaking his head miserably. Whale looked down at his curly head, rather pitying him.

“Okay,” he said, setting down his spoon and retaking his seat. “Tell you what. I’ll call Henry, and we’ll see if we can get you up to speed.”

“I might need flashcards,” Graham said woefully. “And study guides. And diagrams. _Christ,_ there’s so much I missed…”

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

“Morning!” Tink said loudly, bursting through the door.

Belle covered her ears, wincing at the sudden flood of light and noise. She had purposefully kept the library dark, closing all the curtains and turning the lights on low. She and Hook had truly outdone themselves at the White Rabbit yesterday. 

“What are you doing here?” she grumbled, lowering her hands. Tink tossed a box on a table and swung herself up to sit on the counter. She leaned on her elbow, watching Belle put barcode stickers on new books.

“Blue—excuse me, _Mother Superior_ —“ she rolled her eyes—“needs that box of crap—sorry, _books_ —rebound.”

“Can you talk a little lower?” Belle said through gritted teeth. “I’m kind of dealing with an epic hangover here.”

Tink grinned. “Yeah, I know.”

Belle frowned at her. “You’re not a very nice girl.”

“No, I’m not,” she agreed. “That’s what makes me such a shitty nun.”

Belle had a sudden mental picture of Tink in a nun’s habit, with her hair covered by a heavy cloth veil.”It just weirds me out, thinking of you as a nun,” she said, shaking her head. 

“Meh,” she shrugged. “I’m not, really. All the other fairies are, and I’m stuck living with them ’til I find my own place, but ‘nun’ is really only a technical title. Well, at least… that’s how I’m choosing to think of it.” She blew out a breath. “So. Epic hangover, huh?”

“Yeah,” Belle yawned, taking another book from her pile. “Hook’s got girl trouble, so I took him out drinking—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tink said suddenly, holding up her hand. She looked at Belle scoldingly. “ _Why_ would you let him drink in that state?”

Belle’s eyebrows rose. “Because,” she said, rather defensively. “It’s our thing. That’s how he gets over stuff.”

“No. That’s how he holds onto stuff, so he can keep bitching about it, and have an excuse to get drunk off his ass,” Tink said matter-of factly, flipping through a book on trains. “God, this is dull.”

“What do _you_ know about it?” Belle said, stung by Tink’s dismissive criticism. “You’re not on the other side of the phone every day, you’re not sitting with him at Granny’s every day— _I_ am. _I_ know how to deal with Hook, okay?”

Tink looked up, unfazed. “Well, I spent two hundred years with the guy in Neverland,” she said flatly. “So, yeah, I think I know what I’m talking about. And I say, drinking is _not_ how you deal with him.” She went back to her book. “The man’s an alcoholic.”

Belle shifted on her heels, feeling much less certain than she had before. Something about the way Tink talked about him made her feel… distant. As if there was a lot about Hook she didn’t know about, and she was suddenly painfully aware. Yesterday, he had been her best friend; at the present moment, he seemed more of a stranger than anything. 

“You knew him pretty well, huh?” she said finally.

Tink looked up at the dejected tone in her voice, and offered her a sympathetic smile. “Hey, come on,” she said lightly. “Don’t take it personally.”

“I’m not,” Belle insisted, sounding like a petulant child.

“Look—“ Tink hopped off the counter and started unpacking the box of books. “I know Hook is the last person you’d expect to have a type. I mean, the man’ll sleep with literally whoever— _whatever—_ will let him. ” She dropped a stack of worn books on the counter, making Belle wince again. “But when it comes to… you know—“ she raised her fingers in air-quotes—“ _besties …”_ She smiled apologetically. 

Belle frowned. “What are you saying?”

“You’re the Storybrooke me,” Tink shrugged. “I’m the Neverland you.”

“What?” Belle snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Tink said,raising an eyebrow. “Look at us. We’re practically clones.” She started counting off on her fingers. “Short. Cute. Heavy drinker—“

“I’m a social drinker.”

Tink smiled wryly. “Okay,” she said. “ _Social_ drinkers. We talk the same. We even have the same name.” She dropped her hands. “ _Belle._ Tinker _Bell._ Come on.”

A twinge of anxiety hit her. “But…” Belle blinked rapidly. “But he’s my mister-of-honor.”

Tink stared at her for a moment, looking confused. “I’m sorry, what?” she said politely.

“My _mister-of-honor_ ,” Belle enunciated. “It’s like maid-of-honor, but it’s a guy.” 

Tink cocked her head, her mouth open as she took a moment to digest the concept.“That is….bizarre,” she said finally. “I have _never_ heard of a mister-of-honor.”

Belle felt a surge of jealousy in her stomach: the longer she looked at her, the more Tink’s words sunk in. For some reason, it made her angry, knowing that Hook had done the whole “unlikely friendship” thing before. But not with her; with _Tink._ For two hundred years. And she knew—she _knew_ —that they probably made adorable best friends. Possibly more adorable than herself and Hook. And that was pretty fucking adorable.

Was she a replacement Tinker Bell? Was she filling a void? Belle clenched her hands into fists. Knowing that Tink had been the _her_ in Neverland—had been the _original_ best friend—was infuriating and heartbreaking at the same time. She didn’t know who she was angrier with: Tink or Hook. 

But what made her angrier still was how much it upset her. She was _Belle fucking French_ : the most educated person in town who could pull off a mini-skirt. What was she doing, getting all bent out of shape because some lame-ass pirate hung out with some lame-ass fairy for a few lame-ass centuries? She didn’t need that dumb jabroni: just because he was her best friend (and the only one tall enough to help her reach things on the top shelf), that didn’t mean she _needed_ him. 

Even though she kinda did.

And sometimes, she thought privately to herself, it was kinda nice that she did.

And then Tink had to go and ruin shit.

 _But wait,_ she thought suddenly, as some of Robin’s gossip floated back into her head. He had mentioned something about Tink and Hook…

Belle narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Tink, who was now sitting back on the counter. “Are you sure you’re not just saying all this because you like him?”

“Because what?” Tink said absently, filing a fingernail. Belle put her hand on her hip, slitting her eyes icily at the fairy.

“Robin told me about you and Hook.“

The file dropped as Tink’s head snapped up in alarm. “Robin _told_ you?”

“He most certainly did.” Belle smiled in satisfaction.

“That _bitch!_ ” Tink gasped, looking outraged. “I told him not to say anything!”

“A _ha!_ ” Belle shouted triumphantly, slamming her hand on the table (and making herself wince in the process). “I knew it!”

“Oh, you don’t know anything,” Tink said scathingly. “I only said that because—“

The door burst open again. Belle covered her eyes and squeezed her eyes shut against the harsh sunlight.

“Sorry,” Neal said, closing the door behind him. “I forgot, I’m sorry.”

“ _Neal_ …” she whined, straightening up. “I told you…”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said in a loud whisper, walking to the counter. He smiled at Tink briefly. “Hey.”

Tink went red. Her eyes, which had been wide and staring, now dropped to the floor and she mumbled something through a giggle. Neal raised his eyebrows, smiling bemusedly.

“All righty,” he said, sounding as though he didn’t quite know what to make of her. “Anyway, uh, Hook called in, so I’m stuck taking over his stuff today.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. “Emma needs all these… document-things, whatever they are. Do you know where they are in here?” He looked around the library, as if hoping see signs pointing him in the right direction. 

“Mmm… I probably have them in one of the file cabinets,” Belle said, squinting at the list. “Let me look.”

Neal nodded, and leaned against the counter next to Tink. “So, how are your wedding plans coming along?” he asked as she unlocked one of the cabinets.

“Vow renewal.”

“Sorry. How are your _vow renewal plans_ coming along?” She could hear him rolling his eyes. 

“Pretty good,” she said, flipping through manilla folders. “Actually, too good.”

“ _Too_ good?” Neal repeated. “God, I wish I had your problems.”

“No, see—“ Belle paused in her search to explain, sighing. “I got all excited when Rumple gave me the go-ahead to start planning, and I made all these lists and diagrams and shit… And I don’t need half of them, I’m realizing.”

“ _Oh…_ ” Neal nodded slowly, then made a face and shook his head. “No, I don’t get it.”

Tink laughed hysterically. Belle and Neal looked at her, and exchanged a bemused look before Belle went back to explaining.

“You know how I love organizing and planning and all that?” Belle said. Neal nodded; he was more than familiar with Belle’s love for administrating everything (last Christmas dinner was still a sensitive issue, during which some strong words were used when Belle’s specific schedule was less than strictly adhered to). “Well, I thought this vow renewal would be a gold mine for that. And it’s…” She struggled, shaking her head. “I don’t know. Too easy? Everything’s falling into place perfectly.” She shrugged. “I kinda wanted to be a bridezilla.”

Neal carefully looked down at the ground, but that didn’t stop her from noticing him trying to fight a smile. “So, when is it?” he asked, clearly holding back laughter.

“Why are you laughing?” she demanded.

“I’m not laughing!” he said, even as a laugh escaped him.

“Neal,” she whined again, tilting her head. “Why are you laughing?”

“I don’t know,” he grinned, shrugging slightly. “I’ve never heard of anyone aspiring to be a bridezilla. Or having a mister-of-honor,” he added. “That’s weird.”

“Agree to disagree,” Belle said, going back to her folders. “Anyway, I’m planning on the week before Thanksgiving.”

“The week before Thanksgiving?” Neal’s eyebrows flew up. “That’s in a few weeks. Do you even have _time?”_

 _“_ Like I said, everything’s being annoyingly easy,” Belle grumbled, pulling some files out. “It’s hardly any fun at all. Oh, Tink—that reminds me. I need you to come with me to pick out a dress.”

Tink said something unintelligible, tripping over giggles and covering her face in her hands. Neal smiled at her in a puzzled sort of way. 

“Doing all right?” he asked kindly. Tink nodded, her hands still squeezed against her face. He looked over at Belle, who was staring at Tink with the same perplexity. _What the hell?_ he mouthed.

 _I have no idea,_ she mouthed back, shaking her head. Tink had progressed to trembling now: actually, she looked a little ill. 

Neal cleared his throat. “So, how about those files?”

“Yeah, here,” Belle said, stacking them up and handing them to him. He accepted them with a smile and a quiet, _“_ Thanks” before easing the door open and closing it behind him, this time trying to be a little more considerate of her hangover. Belle watched him go, the smile fading off her face as he faded from sight.

“Oh, my God,” Tink said heavily, still flushed. “God _damn.”_

Belle looked over in surprise. “Sorry?”

“He is so _hot_ ,” Tink said, nearly growling. “I mean… I just wanna—“

“WHOA,” Belle said loudly, holding up a hand. “He is my _stepson,_ all right? I don’t want to hear anything—“

“But he’s so fucking _hot,_ ” Tink insisted, her eyes wild. Belle’s eyebrows jumped.

“Tink,” she said warningly. “Don’t. _Please._ ”

Tink walked around in a circle a few times, fanning herself; Belle eyed her warily, wondering if Robin knew just how wrong he was yet. 

“I can’t take it!” Tink said suddenly, throwing her arms up. She looked at Belle, still fanning herself, before whispering, “ _God. Damn._ ”

Belle stared at her with wide eyes, feeling immensely disturbed. “You really are a shitty nun, you know?”

 

* * *

 

 

Emma swiveled in her desk chair lazily, looking at the stack of paperwork in front of her. She knew she’d have to do it eventually. She had to. It was her job as sheriff. And she was a grown-ass lady who _did_ her job. Every part. Even the annoying parts. Like paperwork that no one would ever ever read. 

She looked up at the sound of laughter coming from outside her office: Neal and Hook had crowded their chairs around Neal’s computer, their assignments laying forgotten on their respective desks. Emma frowned: she didn’t like it when they were chummy; they never got _anything_ done when they were chummy, especially when they were laughing like _that._

“Press ‘x’, press ‘x’!” Hook urged as Neal’s fingers moved rapidly on the keyboard, making a pixelated gladiator beat the shit out of another. Pixelated blood exploded on the screen, making Hook and Neal throw back their heads and laugh. Emma let out a disgusted breath. They were like twelve-year-olds: so immature.

Even though she had to hide a chuckle behind her hand. _Blood._ Now, that was just good comedy.

 _No, Emma!_ she told herself sternly, forcing herself back into seriousness. Didn’t she just get through lecturing herself on paperwork and being a grown-ass lady? _Pull yourself together!_

“Oh, _shit,_ ” Neal laughed, starting another round with a particularly vicious opponent.

“Ooh, he’s feisty!” Hook said, leaning forward eagerly. 

Emma realized she was half-standing, trying to get a better look at the gladiator fight. “Ugh!” she said frustratedly, throwing herself back in her seat. She had to focus, or this damn paperwork would _never_ get finished.

She peered at the form in front of her, twiddling the pen as she tried to decipher the legal language. Hesitantly, she scrawled a signature on the bottom, then tried to translate the paragraph beneath.

“HE’S GOT A BLOODY AXE!” 

“YEAH, I _KNOW!”_

“That’s it!” she said, throwing down the pen. How the hell was she supposed to concentrate with the two of them in the background? She flung open the door, and called out sharply, “Guys?”

They turned around, their smiles fading. “Yeah…?”

Emma faltered, losing her nerve: both of them were still pretty bitter with her. It was like they had made a pact, to hold her admittedly manipulative ways over her head, to get back at her; to make her feel guilty. And to her horror, it was working quite well. “Do, uh… do you think you could get something done?” she asked in a softer tone.

Hook exchanged a glance with Neal before slowly wheeling himself back to his desk. Neal lifted his eyebrows at Emma and turned around, picking up his pen. Emma smiled tightly.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Uh-huh,” Hook said in a clipped tone.

Emma shut the door and went back to her desk. She couldn’t help feeling worse, like they were now telepathically mocking her. She shook her head, trying to clear it of the thought. She didn’t have time to worry about this, anyway. This was a workplace. She couldn’t think of them as friends now; she had to think of them as her subordinates. The social awkwardness between them didn’t matter right now; because this was _work._

She scrawled a few more signatures, trying not to think about the fact that if things were normal between them, she’d be right out there with them, cheering on Neal as he slaughtered gladiators with the “x” button. And how after that, they’d probably look up funny YouTube videos. And after that, they’d probably see who could eat the most Saltine crackers. And after that—

Another burst of laughter punctuated the air. Emma’s head snapped up to see Hook try to toss Cheerios into Neal’s mouth from across the room. She slit her eyes as Neal caught one, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Did you _see_ that?” he said triumphantly.

“Hey, I was the one that threw it, mate.”

“Yeah. And I caught it despite your shitty throwing,” Neal grinned. “Come on, give me another.”

Hook squinted, closing one eye as he aimed. “All right, here we go,” he said. “One…two—“

“Stop.” Emma glared at them, her arms crossed against her chest as she leaned against her doorframe. Hook slowly lowered his arm while Neal closed his mouth, both looking back at her blandly. Emma snapped her fingers. “Follow me,” she tossed over her shoulder, going over to the door. She held it open, and looked at them: they hadn’t moved. They were just frozen, looking like two little boys caught goofing off during class. “Get. Up,” she said icily.

Obediently, Hook and Neal walked through the door, keeping their heads down as they followed her to one of the interrogation rooms. “Sit,” she ordered, pointing to two chairs. 

They sat.

Emma shut the door firmly, and turned around. She walked with deliberation to the other side of the table and sat, keeping her narrowed gaze on them. “Here’s the deal, boys,” she said, leaning with her elbows on the table. “We’ve got an uncomfortable situation going with the three of us, and I think it needs to end.”

They stared back stoically. Emma’s eye twitched as she fought to retain her resolve. 

“I am willing to admit that I… _may_ have manipulated you guys over the last couple years, and it was wrong.” She grimaced; humility left the _worst_ taste in her mouth. “But I’m sorry. And I told you that, at least five thousand times each.”

“Exagger _-a-_ tion,” Neal muttered. Hook nodded in agreement. Emma raised her eyes to the ceiling.

“Okay, but I _have_ apologized a lot. It was wrong of me. I _know._ I _get_ it. But I’ve learned my lesson, all right? I won’t try to do that again, ‘cause…” She shifted uncomfortably. “‘Cause these last few weeks with you guys not talking to me have been pretty shitty.”

Neal and Hook glanced at each other. “Give us a minute,” Neal said.

Emma crinkled her brow, but slowly stood up. “Okay…”

She tugged the door open and walked out of the room, and straight to the one-way window so she could watch them debate. They spoke in hushed voice, so it was impossible to hear, but at one point, Hook was shaking his head “no” forcefully and folding his arms tightly while Neal tried to explain something to him. She frowned: was Hook refusing her apology? What nerve! She yanked the door open, prepared to give him a piece of her mind—

“—telling you, Arya Stark is going to outlive everyone,” Neal said emphatically, barely glancing up as Emma walked back in.

“Danaerys is going to get the Iron Throne,” Hook said stubbornly. “The woman’s got _dragons,_ Neal. Arya Stark’s not going to outlive a dragon.”

Emma stared, frozen to the spot. What the hell was going on? This had absolutely _nothing_ to do with her apology. 

“Did you guys push me out… so you could argue about _Game of Thrones_?” Emma asked disbelievingly,  dropping back in her seat. 

Neal looked up slowly. “Uh… no?”

Emma gave him a withering look. “Really?”

“Well….” He faltered at her darkening glare, and leaned back in his seat, sighing. “Okay, fine. Yes. Yes, we did.”

“House Targaryen,” Hook said, his eyes not leaving Neal’s. “They’re the rightful rulers.”

“They’re _insane!_ ” Neal said instantly forgetting Emma.

“They’re the _rightful_ rulers,” Hook insisted, shaking his head. 

“This is unbelievable,” Emma said, closing her eyes and resting her head in her hands. “Unbelievable.”

“Doesn’t matter! They’re _insane!_ ” Neal repeated, slamming his fist on the table. “That’s why they called him the Mad King! That’s why Jaime had to kill him in the first place, because he was fucking _crazy!_ ”

“And that’s why they call him _Kingslayer,_ because he _slayed_ the rightful _king!”_

“And that’s going to happen to your precious Danaerys, too! And then Arya’s going to cut down everyone in her way!”

“Guys…”

“House Targaryen!”

“Starks!”

“Targaryen!”

“Starks!”

“Guys…”

“ _Targaryen!_ ”

“ _Starks!”_

 _“_ Guys!” Emma shouted over their arguing. They turned their heads, startled. She looked between the two of them, scoffing. “Is _no one_ rooting for Tyrion Lannister anymore?”

 


	12. Chapter 12

Ruby glared at the little corner table, where Neal, Hook, and Emma sat, laughing uproariously at something on Neal’s phone. Two weeks had gone by since the… _incident,_ and Hook still hadn’t called to apologize. 

So she didn’t tell him she was a werewolf. Big. Fucking. Deal. After all, _he_ didn’t tell _her_ that he was, like, a billion years old!

She lugged the heavy sugar bag onto the counter: it thudded on the counter, making Belle and Tink shoot her angry looks as their coffee cups rattled from the impact, and dripped. 

“Sorry,” she muttered, preparing to refill her damn sugar containers again. She looked up as Hook let out a particularly loud laugh,and buried his head in Neal’s shoulder, Emma bending over the table as she shook with laughter. Ruby curled her lip.

She didn’t know _what_ happened last week, but suddenly, Neal, Hook, and Emma were like the Three Cabelleros again, and Hook had gone back to pretty much ignoring her. _And he came into the diner every day._ And he had the nerve to _ignore_ her?

It was bad enough she had to watch him sit with Belle every day; but to see him sitting with _Emma_ again? That was torture. It was like, he was rubbing it in her face how much he was ignoring her. 

“No, why do _I_ have to ask her?” she heard Tink hiss at Belle. “It’s _your_ wedding—“

“ _Vow renewal._ ”

“Okay, _whatever_ it is, it’s not mine.”

Belle’s voice took on a threatening edge. “Maybe I’ll ask Neal. Maybe I’ll sit down and join him right now. And then who _knows_ what will come up—“

“All right, all right!” Tink said hastily. Ruby immediately engrossed herself in unscrewing a particularly stubborn cap, trying to look as though she hadn’t been eavesdropping ten seconds earlier. “Hey, Ruby,” Tink called, leaning across the counter.

“You need a refill?” she asked, looking up innocently. 

“No, uh…” Tink glanced at Belle, who frowned and nudged her impatiently. “All right!” Tink snapped, and turned back to Ruby. “Belle needs me to ask you if Granny would be willing to cater her wed— _ow!_ Vow renewal.” She winced, rubbing her leg where Belle had kicked her. 

“Yeah, we do catering,” Ruby said absently, watching as Emma pulled a magazine out of her bag and took out a pen. “Talk to Granny to schedule it.” Neal and Hook had sobered some, and were now looking over Emma’s shoulder at the magazine—both of them looking far too interested for Ruby’s comfort. She suddenly realized she needed to clean the windows in that corner. 

“…can’t decide on a Halloween costume,” Emma was saying as Ruby walked purposefully to the windows, brandishing a cloth and a bottle of Windex. “I was thinking about ‘sexy policewoman’—“

“Yes,” Hook said instantly. Ruby made a noise of disgust, which he apparently didn’t hear.

“Hold on, sparky,” Emma said,  a slight frown on her face she went through the magazine. Ruby squinted, watching their reflection in the window as carefully as a sniper. “I also kinda like the ‘sexy cowgirl’.”

“I don’t know,” Neal said. “This isn’t a decision you should rush. We should consider all the options carefully.”

“I agree,” Hook said immediately. “Heed his words, Emma. He’s very wise.”

Ruby rolled her eyes so much, her contact lens almost popped out.

“How about that ‘sexy nurse’ one?” Neal suggested, turning back a few pages. Hook’s eyes widened.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed. “Neal, quick—run me over with your car. I need to go to the hospital.”

“I’ll do it,” Ruby muttered darkly, as she vigorously wiped the already-clean window.

“But there’s also ‘sexy French maid’,” Emma said, flipping to another page. “What do you guys think of—?”

“YES.”

Ruby turned around incredulously: Hook and Neal stood perfectly still, their eyes wide as they gaped unashamedly at the page. “Could you guys _not_ be so disgusting?” she snapped. “It’s a diner, people are _eating._ ”

Emma frowned at her. “Ruby,” she said reprovingly, “it isn’t nice to eavesdrop.”

Ruby’s mouth opened slightly. “But it’s okay for you to talk about sexy French maid costumes in front of _my_ boyfriend?”

“Not your boyfriend,” Hook mumbled, still staring at the picture in awe. Ruby’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing further into her bangs when Emma said, “Maybe I _should_ get this one.”

“That’s a good idea,” Neal said, nodding clumsily. Hook murmured his agreement, also bobbing his head up and down.

Ruby slit her eyes at him vehemently. “I need to talk to you,” she said, dropping her cleaning supplies to the floor.

“But—sexy French maid!” he protested as she pulled him by the arm to the other side of the diner. Belle and Tink watched with mild interest as she dragged Hook to the back and into the pantry. She slammed the door shut and whirled around, glaring as she folded her arms tightly across her chest. He stared back, looking rather annoyed. 

“Well?” he said, raising his eyebrows. Ruby inhaled deeply, trying to suppress the urge smack him senseless.

“What does that mean, _‘not your boyfriend’_?” she hissed. “And why— _why_ —would you say that in front of Emma? Are you trying to tell me something? Are you trying to break up with me? What’s the deal, here? What’s going on with us?”

“We’re sitting in a pantry, as far as I know,” Hook said, glancing around the cramped space. 

“ _Hook._ ” Ruby was not even slightly amused. He met her eyes reluctantly, wincing as the force of her glare hit him.

“Oh, God, I don’t know!” he said exasperatedly. “There was a sexy French maid in front of me, do you honestly think I was paying attention to what I was saying?”

She wasn’t sure whether to find that comforting or not. “So… where does that leave us?”

Hook raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Where do _you_ think it leaves us?”

She deliberated for a few minutes, studying him as he fiddled with a loose string. “I think it leaves us at you being hung up on Emma or sexy French maid or whoever it is you’ve been ignoring me for….” Ruby took a deep breath, summoning all her reserves of maturity. “And me forgiving you for it, because I know what it’s like to feel like that.”

Hook looked up, blinking a few times. “Wait, you’re not mad?”

“I’m not happy,” she said tensely. “But I get it. I went through the same thing with Jason… and Graham… and Bradley Cooper…”

Hook frowned. “You’re right, that _is_ annoying.”

Someone rapped on the pantry door. “Ruby!” Granny’s voice called out snappishly.  “Ruby, what are you doing in there?”

“Ugh!” Ruby yanked the door open. Granny stood there with folded arms and pursed lips, her beady eyes squinting through her spectacles. “ _What_?”

“What are you doing in here?” Granny repeated. She made a move to walk past her, but Ruby blocked her by putting her hands on either side of the doorway.

“Nothing,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I’m just… doing inventory.”

“Ruby,” Granny frowned, trying to get past her. “Why are you…?” She trailed off as her eyes fell on Hook. Her mouth opened, and she staggered, whipping her head back to her granddaughter accusingly. “ _RUBY—!”_

 _“_ Oh, _honestly!”_ Hook snapped, getting up to walk to the door. He stopped at the doorway and gave Granny a disgusted look. “You have a _filthy_ mind.”

Granny stared after him as swept out the door, then whirled back to Ruby furiously. Ruby put out a cautious hand.

“Now don’t get mad—“

“ _Ruby Lucas, get your skinny ass back out there and finish your shift,_ ” Granny hissed in quiet fury. Ruby groaned, tilting her head back.

“Granny, I _swear,_ we were just talking—“

“Finish. Your. Shift.” Granny glared at her. “And Mr. Gold and Belle are waiting for you to go over their reception menu with them, so hurry up.” She stood still as Ruby made a frustrated noise and pushed past her. “And _smile!_ ”

Ruby pulled her lips back in a sarcastic smile and stalked to the counter, where Gold and Belle were sitting, murmuring as they frowned at a menu.

“Hey. Granny said you guys needed some help,” Ruby said, leaning her elbows on the counter. Belle closed her eyes at the sound of her voice, but Gold looked up with a smile.

“Afternoon, Ruby,” he said pleasantly. “We were just trying to decide between chicken parmesan and lasagna for the entree.”

“Isn’t it, like, the same thing?” Ruby asked, lifting her eyebrows. Gold looked scandalized.

“Chicken parmesan and lasagna, the same thing?” he said. “Are you _mad,_ woman?”

“I think we should do the chicken,” Belle said, looking rather grumpy. “People always bring food to these things, and Regina’s going to want to bring lasagna. I don’t want there to be _two_ lasagnas.”

“Just tell people not to bring stuff,” Ruby suggested in a bored voice. “Problem solved.”

“That would be rude,” Gold said, shifting uncomfortably. “I-I don’t want to be rude.”

“Then get chicken.”

“But I like lasagna,” he whined. 

“Regina will bring lasagna,” Belle said through clenched teeth. “We should get chicken.”

“But Belle…”

“Rumple, you _said_ I could decide everything,” she said heatedly. “The dress, the venue, the flowers—“

“And those are all fine, I don’t care about any of those,” Gold said. “But I have to _eat_ the food, I should get a say in what I’m putting in my mouth.”

Belle put her head in hands, speaking in a muffled voice. “Rumple, so help me God…”

Ruby’s attention wandered as they started a muttered argument. Her eyes travelled back to the little corner table, where Emma and the guys were still looking through her Halloween magazine. Ruby’s shoulders tensed and she felt her temper rise again….but then, as if he could feel her eyes on him, Hook looked up and offered her a cautious smile. 

Surprised, she smiled back. He turned back to the magazine, joining in a discussion on the merits of sexy policewoman over sexy nurse, but this time Ruby didn’t mind as much.

Her smile twitched as Emma turned to another page and Hook wiggled his eyebrows, grinning widely. 

“‘Sexy pirate wench’. I _like_ it.”

“No, no, _no,_ ” Neal said immediately, reaching over and turning the page. “Come on, dude, I thought we agreed on ‘sexy French maid’.”

“I _do_ love ‘sexy French maid’,” he mused, rubbing his thumb thoughtfully against his mouth. 

“I still like ‘sexy policewoman’,” Emma said, turning back.

“But you’re ‘sexy policewoman’ every day,” Neal pointed out. Emma smiled and swatted his arm.

“ _Neal,_ ” she said admonishingly, though she sounded rather pleased. Ruby pursed her lips, feeling her temper rise again. 

 _I wonder how she’d feel about going as ‘sexy murder victim’,_ she thought to herself bitterly. 

 


	13. Chapter 13

The music was loud enough to make the ground vibrate beneath his feet as he walked toward the entrance of the White Rabbit. Neal pulled the door open, and was assaulted by a barrage of lights and music. People were already dancing and—judging from _how_ they were dancing—drinking. 

“Neal!” 

Emma made a squealing noise and ran toward him, a drink in her hand. Before he could reply, she threw her arms around him, forcefully enough to make him stagger back.

“Okay, Emma,” he said in a strained voice, trying to pry her tightly wound arms off his neck. She pulled back, grinning at him, her eyes slightly unfocused.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” she said loudly, clearly drunk. “I’m a dead cheerleader,” she added unnecessarily, pointing to herself. 

“That’s—that’s great. How much have you been drinking?” he asked, peering at her in concern. Emma blinked at him, and raised her eyes to the ceiling, her mouth falling open.

“Uh… _this_ many,” she said finally, holding up five fingers. 

“Neal, thank God!” Hook suddenly came into view, pushing past a closely dancing couple. He was slightly out of breath, his hair disheveled. “It’s _madness_ in there,” he said in response to Neal’s raised eyebrows. “Where the hell were you, anyway? I haven’t been able to have a drink, I’ve been watching _her_ all night.” He jerked his thumb irritably at a giggling Emma. 

Neal was too busy staring confusedly at him to really hear what he was saying. “What _are_ you?” he asked, crinkling his brow. Hook’s costume was hardly a costume at all: it was a hoodie with faded jeans and a scarf.

Hook beamed. “I’m _you,_ ” he said proudly. “Here, watch this—“ He slumped and spoke with a flat affect, half-closing his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, bro. Gimme a cuppa coffee, already.”

Neal’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah, it’s uncanny,” he said. Hook straightened, flashing him a smile.

“What are you?” he asked, gesturing to Neal’s street clothes.

Neal looked down, then back up at Hook. He didn’t want to disappoint him. Hook had really taken a shine to this world’s holidays, particularly Halloween. He got so excited when the entire town joined in the wild partying, getting drunk, dancing to loud music, dressing up in costumes that even _he_ thought were ridiculous… Neal couldn’t bear to destroy the magic for him, poor bastard.

“Uh…” he said, trying to think of something. “I’m—“

“Oh, Neal, there you are!”

Snow saved him the trouble of answering, appearing as she pushed her way through the crowd, dragging David behind her. 

“Hey,” he said, blinking at their elaborate costumes. “Wow. You guys look… Look at you guys.”

“Thanks,” Snow smiled, adjusting the flapper’s feather on her head. David scratched his face under the long white beard tied under his wizard’s hat. “You’re here early, I thought you were going to take Henry trick-or-treating.”

“Nah, I rented him some scary movies,” Neal said, deciding not to tell Snow that he agreed with Henry that he was more than old enough to go trick-or-treating on his own. “He didn’t want to go out.”

Snow looked at David meaningfully, but she dropped the subject. “Come on,” she said, beckoning Neal further into the party. “You want a drink?”

“Actually, I’m going to hang out with these guys,” Neal said, moving his head toward Hook and Emma. “You guys go on, I’ll catch up with you later.”

Snow shrugged, and pulled David after her, whirling him onto the dance floor. Neal watched them go, taking in the scene: the colored lights zoomed around the room at a disorienting speed, the room thudding with the volume of the music; half the people were dancing, the other half scattered around tables with drinks; there was even a suspicious cloud of smoke coming from one corner. Neal turned back around, shaking his head to clear it.

Hook exhaled in frustration as he supported a giggling Emma, one of her pigtails tickling his face as she staggered toward the floor.

“Killy,” she slurred. “You’re so _pretty…_ ”

“Yeah, I know,” he grunted, struggling to keep her upright. “Neal, you want to help me out here?”

“Yeah, all right.” Neal took one elbow as Hook took the other, balancing Emma on her feet. 

“Maybe we should get her a seat,” Hook said, squinting around for an empty table. 

“No,” Emma grumbled. “I want to dance. Somebody dance with me.”

“Don’t worry, Em, we’ll dance after you get some coffee in you or something. _Shit_ , she’s drunk,” he muttered to Hook as they dragged her toward a table. 

“I know,” Hook grimaced. “She’s been calling me ‘Killy’ all night.”

“I foresee that nickname catching on,” Neal said seriously. Hook’s head snapped up in a panic.

“ _Don’t,_ ” he said, his eyes wide with pleading. “Neal, please.”

“I don’t have time to discuss this with you, Killy.”

“Neal!” Hook looked at him urgently. _“Please_.”

“Let’s take care of Emma first,” Neal said over her head. “Come on, Killy.”

They pulled Emma to an empty seat and sat her down on a chair, her head lolling around as she grinned at them. “You guys are _awesome_ ,” she said in a breathy voice, smudging her make-up as she giggled into Neal’s shoulder. He glanced up at Hook, who was staring down at Emma, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe you let her get this drunk!” 

“Neal, please,” Hook snapped. “When have I ever been responsible?”

“Fair point,” Neal sighed, standing up. Emma hummed to herself serenely, smiling widely as she gazed around the dance floor. They looked down at her, watching her pigtailed head lazily turn side to side.

“All right,” Hook said, clapping his shoulder. “I’m going to go get drunk.”

“What, you’re going?” Neal turned his eyebrows up, and gestured to Emma. “What about her?”

“Your turn to babysit,” Hook said, walking backwards. “I’ve got to find Ruby. She came as ‘Sexy Vampire’.” He wiggled his eyebrows, his eyes gleaming. “‘ _Sexy Vampire_ ’, Neal!”

“All right, go,” Neal said, waving him away. “Go have fun, you disgusting little man.”

Hook grinned, and disappeared into the crowd. Neal turned back to Emma with a sigh, putting his hands on his hips.

“What are we going to do with you, Em?” he muttered. She gazed up at him, smiling.

“Dance?” she said hopefully. _“Drink_?”

“No, no, no,” Neal said, shaking his head. “No more drinking.”

“You’re no _fun,_ ” she whined. “Dance with me, _please?_ ” She clutched the end of his shirt pleadingly. “ _Please,_ Neal?”

“Okay, we’ll dance,” he said, gently tugging his shirt out of her hands. “I’m just going to find you something to eat first, okay? Emma, hey—look at me—“ he took her by the shoulders, pushing her head up to face him—“stay here, okay? Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

“‘Kay,” she said, nodding her head clumsily. 

Neal rubbed his eyes, and swept his gaze around the room, looking for food tables. He noticed people standing with plates in their hands over in the far corner. “Stay here, Em,” he reminded her, and started pushing his way through dancing couples.

“’S’cuse me,” he said, turning sideways to get past Cleopatra and her astronaut boyfriend. “Sorry,” as he brushed past Darth Vader and Princess Padme. “Okay, w _ow…”_ when he bumped into a Teletubby. 

He finally made his way through the crowd, stumbling out just in time as another techno dance number started up. The food tables were already in a sorry state: chips mingled with pretzels, dip splattered on the cheap table cloths. The punch bowl was nearly empty, but a mummy was refilling it.

Neal grabbed a paper plate, and looked at the bowls, grimacing. He finally grabbed a handful of tortilla chips, scanning the rest of the tables for anything more filling. He didn’t really consider _Doritos_ to be a good supplement, so he turned back, facing the nightmare of the dancing crowd.

“You’re a brave man, Cassidy,” he muttered to himself, approaching the mob. He took a deep breath.

This time, he had a strategy: if he power-walked and pushed couples rudely enough, without any regard for their feelings or toes, he had a shot at getting out with the plate still full and his dignity intact. He didn’t make many friends, though: Darth Vader and Padme had a few choice words for him; Cleopatra and the astronaut made a few rude suggestions; the Teletubby really had no room to judge, so he just ignored it. Neal shoved past the last couple of dancing assholes, holding his hand over the plate to keep it from spilling.

On the other side of the crowd, he looked for Emma’s table, where he had left her drunkenly gazing at the other partygoers. He squinted through the colored lights, looking for the blonde pigtails. His stomach dropped when he saw her empty chair.

“ _Shit.”_

Drunk Emma was on the loose. Neal slammed the plate down, not caring as he sent a cascade of tortilla chips through the air and into several people’s drinks. 

“EMMA!” he shouted, fighting to be heard over the music. How the _hell_ was he going to find her in this chaos? “Goddamn it!” he swore, squeezing his eyes shut. He ran his fingers through his hair, thinking hard. Okay, where would Emma go, where would drunk Emma go?

“Dancing,” he said suddenly, opening his eyes. “She wanted to—oh, goddamn it.”

 He glared at the dancing mob, disgusted at what he was going to have to do. Praying that she was at the edges somewhere, he began walking the length of the dance floor, looking for any sign of her.

“Emma?” he called, ducking as people’s arms flung out in time with the beat. “EMMA?”

“Neal, honestly, there’s no need to shout!” a woman’s annoyed voice said. Neal whipped his head around to see Regina in a long vampire dress, frowning as she lowered her hands from her ears. Robin stood next her, wearing his Dracula costume.

“I’m looking for Emma,” he explained. “Have you seen her?”

“Yes, she looks ridiculous,” Regina sniffed. Neal raised his eyes exasperatedly.

“No, I mean, do you know where she went?” he said. “She’s drunk off her ass, and I can’t find her.”

“ _Oh._ No, haven’t the foggiest.” Regina stood on tiptoe, scanning the crowd with a frown on her face. “She might be in there. The crazies seem to flock more toward the center. Speaking of—“ she turned back to Neal, grimacing—“have you _seen_ what Ruby Lucas is wearing? Or rather, _isn’t_ wearing?”

“Heard about it,” Neal said cautiously. “Sexy vampire, right?”

“Actually, that’s me,” Robin said, and laughed at his own joke. Neal and Regina looked at him blandly, making his smile fade.

“I was kidding _,_ ” he said, sounding irritated. “My _God,_ get a sense of humor!”

“Robin,” Regina began impatiently, but she trailed off as her eyes caught something in the distance. She made a noise of disgust as a couple broke off from the crowd and started walking hurriedly toward them, hand in hand. Neal squinted to see Hook and Ruby approach them, Hook looking extremely displeased.

“Neal, what the hell are you doing?” he snapped. “I thought you were going to keep an eye on Emma! We just saw her dancing like a lunatic in the middle of the floor!”

“I went to go get her some food and she wandered off,” Neal said tiredly. “Go get her, would you? I don’t have it in me to go back in there.”

“Are you—? No!” Hook said, affronted. “No, I’ve been watching her all night! And _sober_ isn’t really my color, mate, so I’d rather find a few shots and get drunk enough to forget my own name!”

“What name would that be— _Killy?_ ” Neal taunted. Hook glowered at him, and he raised his hook threateningly.

“Neal, so help me God, if you call me that one more time, I will take this hook and put it through your cornea.”

“Just go get her, I’ll watch her!” Neal snapped, throwing his hand out. “Get her off the floor, and you can get wasted after that!”

“It’s _your_ turn—!”

“I will legally change your name to ‘ _Killy_ ’!”

“ _I told you not to call me that!_ ”

“ _I’ll_ get Emma!” Regina shouted over them, and gave them both a smack upside the head. “ _Idiots._ ” 

Hook rubbed his head, looking at Regina as if he’d only just noticed she was there. “Regina,” he said, blinking at her. His eyes travelled up and down her costume. _“Damn,_ woman…”

“You repel me,” Regina said, curling her lip in disdain, and walked away. Hook watched her go in a stupor, his mouth hanging open and his eyes staring.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

“Dude,” Neal muttered, elbowing him and jutting his head toward an uncomfortable-looking Robin. Hook smiled sheepishly. 

“Sorry.”

Robin waved his hand, sighing. “I’ve been putting up with it all night,” he said, walking closer toward them. 

“Mmm, I’ll bet,” Hook said, folding his arms as he watched Regina stride off into the crowd. Ruby smacked him in the arm, looking deeply offended, but Hook barely seemed to notice her anger.

“Ruby, love, get us some drinks, would you?” he murmured, not taking his eyes off Regina.

“Eeesh,” Neal muttered, seeing the outraged look on Ruby’s face as she spun on her heel disbelievingly. Robin carefully looked at his shoes as she started to rant.

“Why, because I’m a _woman?_ You lazy shit-heads can’t get your own drinks? It’s too important that you ogle other women, so you have to send your little servant out to fetch your drinks?”

“It’s nothing to do with you being a woman!” Hook said irritably, facing her. “You’re a waitress!”

Ruby’s eyes bugged out. “You’re such a _jerk!_ ” she said viciously, hitting him again as she stormed off. Hook frowned in mild annoyance, but didn’t seem to care much about her hitting him or leaving.

“But really, Robin, she is _gorgeous,_ ” he said in wonderment, as Regina executed a perfect right hook to a zombie dancing a little too close to her. “How do you keep your hands off her?”

“Okay, _wow,_ ” Neal said loudly, feeling humiliated on Robin’s behalf.  Hook tsked apologetically, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, mate—“

“No, no,” Robin said, looking a little green nonetheless. “Quite all right.”

“—I have this really terrible habit—“

“It’s fine, seriously—“

“—I’m such a bloody… er, Neal, what is it that Henry calls me?”

“A douchebag.”

“Right. Robin, mate, I’m sorry. I’m a bloody douchebag—“

“It’s all fine, so maybe we could not talk about it—“

“—I’m _such_ a slut—“

“Okay, shut up now!” Neal said, covering his hand over Hook’s mouth.  Hook frowned, mumbling a few things unintelligibly. “What?” he asked, lifting his hand.

“I said, ‘But don’t you think she’s an absolute goddess?” Hook said, standing on tiptoe to get a better glance at Regina. Robin looked up at the ceiling, as if silently praying for God to smite Hook right there.

Honestly, Neal didn’t see what the big deal was about Regina. He knew that _technically_ she was beautiful, but…. _meh._ There was something about her that just made it impossible for him to see her in that way. She was too… well, he didn’t know what it was, but for some reason, it felt weird.

“She’s all right, I guess,” he said, lowering his hand. Robin and Hook’s heads whipped toward him in disbelief.

“ _All right, you guess_?” Hook repeated incredulously.

“Are you _mad?_ ” Robin scoffed.

“She’s a bloody miracle in that dress!” Hook said, outraged. 

“Okay, you have to _stop_ that,” Robin said, rounding on Hook. “Besides, don’t you _have_ a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Ruby looks great,” Neal said. “I thought you’d be all over her tonight.”

Hook gave a him a disparaging look. “Honestly, Neal, how shallow do you think I am?”

He shrugged. “Very.”

Hook looked as though he were about to argue, then shrugged. “Well, yes, I am. But the point is,” he said, holding up a finger with renewed purpose, “Ruby drives me _mad._ Not in the good way. In the bad way. In the very, very bad way.”

“The laugh?” Neal asked, raising his eyebrows knowingly.

“Yes, but it’s so much more,” Hook said frustratedly. “She’s an _idiot,_ Neal. I sit there and I listen to her go on about this Jason kid for _hours_ and _hours_ and how he’s dating this—“

“Drugstore whore,” Neal nodded. “Yep.”

“She talks about it incessantly!” Hook said, throwing up his hands. “And she’s so shrill and shrieky and naggy and whiny and clingy and she _fixates_ on these meaningless little details—I mean, no bloody wonder Jason’s dating the drugstore whore, Ruby’s—!”

“I think she’s lonely,” Robin cut in thoughtfully. Neal and Hook turned their heads to look at him. Robin stared off into space, still thinking. 

“Regina’s like that,” he mused. “She gets so afraid that people are going to leave her, and she’s going to be alone again… That’s why she’s so clingy, she doesn’t want to be left alone.” He nodded slowly, deep in thought.

Hook watched Robin sourly, his mouth a thin line. “I really hate him sometimes,” he muttered to Neal. 

“Makes you feel like a real asshole?”

“I’m _such_ an asshole,” Hook said, closing his eyes. 

“Little bit.”

He sighed, tilting his head back. “I’ll give her some time to find another guy to make me ‘jealous,’” he decided. “Then I s’pose I better go after her…”

“What a little Romeo you are,” Neal said in mock reverence. 

“I am,” Hook agreed sadly. 

Regina finally emerged from the crowd, dragging a still-dancing Emma behind her. She gave Emma an impatient tug as another song started up, resisting Emma’s efforts to jump back in the dancing crowd. She staggered drunkenly after Regina, tripping over her own feet and laughing as if it were the most hilarious thing in the world.

“ _Hey,_ guys!” she said breathlessly, beaming at them. “You looked _pissed_ , what’s wrong?”

“Here,” Regina said briskly, tossing Emma’s hand at Neal. “I think you lost this.”

“Thanks.” Neal grimaced as Emma half-collapsed on him, putting back a foot to steady them. “She’s smashed.”

“I can see that,” Hook said, looking at her disapprovingly. “She’s really put a damper on the night, I’m not going to be able to get half as drunk as I planned.”  

“Oh, boo-hoo!” Emma grumbled, scowling at him. Hook’s eyebrows rose as she reached for him. “C’mere, I wanna tell you something.”

He exchanged a glance with Neal, who shrugged. Hook leaned a little closer to Emma, looking rather annoyed.

“What?”

Emma smiled at him dreamily. “You’re awesome. I love you, bro.”

“Okay,” Hook sighed, straightening up. 

Emma swiveled her head to smile up at Neal. “I love you, too, bro.”

Neal patted her head, smiling patronizingly. “Me, too, bro.”

Emma sighed happily, slinging her arms around their necks. “You _guys…”_ Her head flopped  on Hook’s shoulder. He made a face, trying to shrug her off.

“Emma, come on, get up,” he said, shaking her. “Get _up.”_

“Don’t drink the punch,” she slurred, allowing Neal to gently detach her arm from Hook’s neck. “It gets you _so_ drunk, man. _So. Fucking. Drunk._ ”

“I won’t touch it,” Hook lied. He looked up at Neal. “Okay, you take her home. I’m going to go find Ruby.”

“‘Kay,” Neal said as Hook started walking away. “ _Be nice, Killy!_ ” he called after him, laughing when Hook glared at him over his shoulder.

“Neal?” Emma whispered in his ear.

“Hmm?”

“I think I’m gonna puke.”

“You say the sweetest things.” He sighed, for what felt like the hundredth time that night. “Let’s find you a bathroom.”

Emma emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, still looking fairly green. Neal glanced up from his phone, on which he had been playing a very frustrating level of Candy Crush. Emma walked toward him unevenly, grimacing.

“You look grumpy,” she said, allowing him to take her elbow. 

“Damn chocolate squares,” he explained, holding up his phone. Emma groaned, throwing her head back.

“I hate chocolate squares! And squirrels,” she said as an afterthought. “Squirrels are stupid.”

Neal snorted, opening the door and leading her outside. She shivered, wincing against the bitterly cold wind as he took her to the car. 

“Fuck, it’s cold,” she complained, wrapping her arms around her for warmth as he unlocked the door.

“Yep,” he agreed, opening it. “All right, come on—left leg first… _there_ you go. And right leg…okay.” He shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side, sliding into the familiar front seat of the yellow bug.  Emma looked around the interior with a smile on her face as he started the car and pulled onto the road.

“Hey,” she said, nudging him. “This is where we first met.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he said, squinting through the darkness.

“I broke into the car and started driving… and then you just popped up in the back,” she grinned, turning her head to look at the back seat. 

“Yes, I did.” He side-eyed her. “Any reason for the random stroll down Memory Lane?”

She shrugged. “Squirrels,” she said mysteriously.

Neal raised his eyebrows, nodding slowly. “Squirrels,” he agreed. 

He turned his attention back to the road, and spent the rest of the silent drive wondering what the hell “squirrels” meant.

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

David side-eyed Snow as Henry sleepily stumbled into the kitchen, yawning. Snow, filling the coffee pot with water, caught his glance and flicked her eyes at Henry. A telepathic conversation between the two of them flew over Henry’s head as he pulled out a stool and sat down.

_He got home late last night._

_I’m worried about him, David. He doesn’t look so good._

_Do you think it’s Grace?_

_If he’s coming home late, it_ better not _be Grace!_

_I’ll talk to him._

Snow nodded, and busied herself with the coffee while David pulled out the stool next to Henry. “Hey, buddy,” he said cautiously. 

Henry glanced up. “Hey, Gramps,” he mumbled, propping his head up with one hand. “What’s up?”

“Just… wanted to see how you’re doing.” David peered at him in concern. There were dark circles under the kid’s eyes, and his face looked drawn and pale. He’d been like this the last couple weeks: hardly sleeping, hardly eating, spending all his time either in his room or disappearing off to mysterious places. Even his grades were starting to slip, according to Snow: his last English paper had been spectacularly horrible, slap-dash and nearly incoherent.

“Fine,” Henry said, tracing his finger along the counter. “Just a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“You’ve seemed really distracted lately,” David said, watching him carefully. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“No,” Henry said, sounding a little annoyed. David took a deep breath, feeling Snow’s eyes on them.

“Henry,” he said in a low voice, “does this have anything to do with Grace?”

Henry slammed his hand on the table, startling them both. “Why do people keep asking me that?”he asked the ceiling. “What does Grace have to do with _anything_?”

He pushed out from the counter and stalked back upstairs, muttering under his breath. David blew out a slow breath, then looked at Snow, who was staring worriedly off into space. 

“Hey,” he said reassuringly. “It’s fine. Neal and Hook’ll be by pretty soon, maybe they’ll have more luck with him.”

That snapped Snow out of her trance, quick enough. “Well, Neal’s all right, but I don’t want that pirate man-whore near Henry,” she said stiffly. “Especially after how he behaved at the party last night.”

“Don’t worry,” David grimaced, thinking of how incredibly drunk Hook had managed to get in the last few hours. “I’m sure his hangover will be penance enough, you don’t need to yell at him.”

“Speaking of hangovers,” Snow said, jerking her head toward the couch, where Emma slept, still in her dead cheerleader costume. Her make-up was all over her face and arms now, her pigtails a mess of tangles, and David knew that when his daughter finally woke up, she would be shying away from the sun and moaning like a thousand nails were being driven into her skull. 

“Make a lot of coffee,” David advised her. “The two of them are going to need it.”

Snow mumbled something about a few other things Hook needed (dignity, a cold shower, and AA meetings among them), but didn’t say anything more on the matter. David got to work, mixing pancake batter and taking out bacon, humming the song that was stuck in his head from last night.

“You know,” he remarked, cracking an egg, “I don’t think I want to be a wizard next year. That beard was really itchy.”

Snow shrugged. “You could be a clean-shaven wizard.”

“What kind of wizard is clean-shaven?” David frowned, whisking his eggs. “That’s ridiculous, Snow. Wizards have beards. It’s a fact of life.”

Snow rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Far be it from me to dispute _facts of life._ ”

Her smile faded when a knock sounded at the door a few minutes later. 

“That’s them,” David said, wiping his hands on a towel and crossing the room to open the door. Sure enough, when he swung it open, he saw Neal standing with his hands in his coat pockets and Hook, shading himself from the sunlight by holding his jacket over his head like a veil. 

“We’ve got coffee,” David said, smiling enticingly as he stepped aside to let them through.

“I’m not hungover,” Neal said smugly. Hook glowered as he followed Neal inside.

“Nor am I,” he said petulantly. “Just grumpy. I hate the sun, it’s stupid.” He threw himself onto the stool beside Neal, not noticing Snow purse her lips disapprovingly. 

“Is Henry up?” Neal asked, looking around hopefully. 

“He is,” David said hesitantly, retaking his place behind the counter. “Still a little… teenager-y. Might need a few more minutes to wake up.”

Snow took some mugs out of the cupboard, not troubling to keep the noise down. “Coffee, Neal?” she asked pleasantly, taking out the cream.

“Yeah, thanks,” he smiled, then looked down at Hook, who had buried his head in his arms, and nudged him. “Wake up, Killy.”

“Goddamn you,” Hook said in a muffled voice. David felt a wide smile spread on his face.

“ _Killy?_ ” he repeated, feeling as though Christmas had come early. “Well, _this_ is an interesting development.”

“Coffee, Killy?” Snow said in a dry voice. Hook looked back at her with narrowed eyes, his jaw tensing; Snow slit her eyes back, her lip curling in disgust. Neal and David hid their smiles as the two eyed one another with dislike.

“Please,” Hook said through gritted teeth. 

Snow twitched a sarcastic smile at him, and poured a stream of coffee into a mug.  “Drink up, man-whore,” she said, pushing the cup over.

“Much obliged… Snow _,_ ” he finished lamely, seeing David narrow his eyes dangerously.

“Is Emma throwing up in the bathroom?” Neal asked as Snow fixed him a cup.

“Still asleep on the couch,” David replied, pulling out a pan. “You guys want pancakes?”

Neal gave an enthusiastic, “Yes!”, just as Hook gave a definitive, “ _No._ ” Neal raised his eyebrows and looked at Hook with wide eyes.

“Why would you turn down free pancakes?”

“I hate pancakes,” Hook said, glaring at his cup.

“You _hate_ pancakes?” Neal looked demoralized. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I drank my weight in vodka last night, what do you _think’s_ wrong with me?”

David chuckled, looking for his spatula. Neal and Hook never failed to make him laugh with their immaturity. Being around them was like being in college again… even though he’d never actually _been_ to college, apart from his curse memories. 

“You want to shake Emma awake?” Snow asked him.

David looked down at the spatula in his hand. “I’m making pancakes.”

“Pancakes can wait two minutes,” she said. 

He whined a little, hanging his head reluctantly. Snow looked at him with big eyes.

“Oh, _please,_ David?” she said as she took his hand in both of hers, tucking it pleadingly to her chin. “You know I’m not good with Emma when she’s hungover.”

“I’ll do it,” Neal said, getting up. “You make pancakes, I’ll wake up Sleeping Beauty.”

Snow beamed at him, lowering her hands, but still holding David’s. “How _cute_ is that?” she whispered, nudging him. “Sleeping Beauty…”

“Yes, it’s precious,” Hook said flatly, waving his empty cup at her. “Can I have some more coffee, _love_?”

Snow’s smile dropped. “Help yourself, Captain Chlamydia.”

“ _Snap!_ ” David looked at her in surprise, smiling. 

“Yes, well done,” Hook grumbled, pulling the the coffee pot by the handle with his hook.

“What’s well done?” Emma said, tottering toward them sleepily. She winced, putting a hand to her head. “Oh, God, my head.” She dropped in the stool next to Hook, slumping in a similar manner.

“Aspirin?” David asked them, going over to the medicine cabinet. 

They both murmured something unintelligible, which David took as a “yes”.

“Thanks, Dad,” Emma said as he passed her the aspirin; Hook gave him a silent nod of thanks when he got his. Neal cackled, pulling out the stool on Emma’s other side.

“You’d think after last year, you guys would learn,” he said, alluding to the Halloween party that was still a little fuzzy in David’s memory, as he and Hook had tried to have a drinking contest (Hook won, but he also had a worse hangover the next day, so David hadn’t been too broken up about it). “Remember when Emma starting _singing?_ ”

Emma moaned, covering her ears. “Do you have to talk so loudly?” she complained. “Do you _know_ how much punch I drank last night?”

Snow looked at her with a mixture of disapproval and sympathy. “Coffee?” she offered, holding up the pot. 

“I want to shower first,” Emma said, shaking her head as she got up. “And _no,_ you can’t join me,” she said immediately as Hook opened his mouth.

“You sure about—meh, forget it,” he said, letting his head flop back on the counter. “My head hurts too much for this today.”

“Thank God,” David said under his breath. That was the downside to being friends with Hook and Neal: he had to be constantly reminded of their feelings for his daughter, which made things extremely uncomfortable and awkward at times. And Hook’s twisted sense of humor did nothing to help the situation.

“So,” Neal said, watching David pour pancake batter into the pan. “You guys have fun yesterday?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, picking up his spatula. “We danced, we drank—“

“Not too much, though,” Snow said, her eyes boring into Hook’s. “See, we don’t drink to the point of making such gigantic asses of ourselves in public that other people—“

“Yeah, so I’m hearing _talking_ , and I’d really like to hear _silence,_ ” Hook cut in, whispering the last word.

“It’d be nice, if we could all get what we want,” Snow agreed, pouring herself a cup of coffee now. “For example—“ she took a sip, shrugging—“it’d be nice if I didn’t have to see one of my oldest friends shoving her tongue down some STD-ridden pirate’s throat, but I _did_ , so there you go.”

“I’m very affectionate when I’m drunk,” Hook said defensively, and added in a clearly audible undertone, “Not as much as _Ruby,_ mind you…”

“Ugh,” Snow said disgustedly, while David and Neal tried to pretend the pancakes were the most fascinating topic they’d ever discussed.

“Oh, wow, that one’s almost a perfect circle.”

“Yeah, I think it’s because I used a ladle, instead of trying to scoop it out.”

“Ah, well… _ladles._ ”

“Marvelous invention.”

“Aren’t they?”

By the time Emma came back down, freshly showered and dressed in normal clothes, David had built up a good-sized stack of pancakes. Neal was already cutting into his, while Hook poked around hopefully in the cupboards, looking for something satisfactory. 

“’S’up?” Emma said, still sounding a bit groggy as she took Hook’s vacant seat.

“You want a pancake?” David offered, handing her a plate.

“Coffee first,” Emma said firmly. “This hangover’s a _bitch._ ”

“Emma,” Snow said reprovingly.

Emma rolled her eyes, choosing not to respond, and thanked David as he poured her a cup. “Ah, that’s the good stuff,” she said, closing in her eyes in pleasure after taking a sip. “Best cure for a hangover.”

“Best cure for a hangover is staying drunk,” Hook said grumpily, shuffling back to his seat. He stopped in front of Emma and frowned. “Scoot.”

“No,” she said, shrugging him away. Hook poked her insistently, frowning deeper.

“Emma,” he said in a whiny voice, “come on, I was sitting there.”

“Operative word: _was._ ”

Hook obnoxiously leaned against her, trying to push her out, all the while making a soft mewling sound; Emma refused to budge, putting one leg down to steady herself. Neal watched them with mild interest as he ate his pancakes.

“You guys are literally twelve, sometimes,” he said thoughtfully. 

Hook had contented himself to sit at the kitchen table by the time Henry came downstairs, fully dressed with his coat and scarf in hand.

“Hey, Henry,” Neal said, turning around in surprise. “What’s the rush?”

“Hey, Dad,” Henry said absently, pulling on his coat. “I just…I got some things to do.”

“You want a pancake?” Emma offered, raising her eyebrows.

“Nah, I’ll eat there,” Henry muttered, wrapping his scarf around his neck.

“Where’s ‘there’?” Snow pressed, frowning in concern.

Henry looked impatient. “Dr. Whale’s. He’s, uh, letting me shadow him. And I’m late, so I really got to go.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Hook said as Henry reached for the doorknob. “You’re not even going to insult me before you leave?”

Henry sighed, hanging his head tiredly. “Uh… I don’t know,” he said, flopping his hand. “How’s your gonorrhea?”

“That’s it?” Hook raised his eyebrows as Henry yanked the door open and shot out. He turned back to the others, jutting his thumb at the now-empty doorway. “Is it me, or are his insults getting weaker?”

“No, you’re right,” Snow frowned, bringing her cup to her lips. She looked at Hook. “How _is_ your gonorrhea?” 

Hook smiled at her sarcastically. “ _Ha_ ,” he said scathingly. “Call a surgeon, my sides are _splitting._ ”

David smiled to himself, rather enjoying the acidic banter between his wife and his… whatever Hook was. He didn’t know if they realized how amusing their hatred for each other was, but he thought it was comedy gold. Nevertheless, he felt a need to put a stop to it when they started trading accusations of STD’s the other might have.

“Lord knows _what_ you picked up in Neverland, probably some hideous jungle disease—“

“—living in the forest, could have rolled in anything there—“

“—sleazy pubs and sleazier barmaids—“

“—probably involved goats at some point—“

“Okay, you two!” David said loudly. “That’s enough, people are eating.”

“Yeah, guys,” Emma said, cutting her pancake. “Jesus, be a little considerate.” Neal murmured his agreement through a mouthful. 

Hook shrugged; Snow gave him a withering look, but desisted. David finally sat down, bringing his plate next to Hook, enjoying the smell of fresh buttery pancakes slathered with syrup.

“You sure you don’t want any?” he asked, swallowing. Hook made a face and shook his head.

“No, I _hate_ pancakes, I told you,” he said.

“That’s so weird,” Neal said from the counter. “Who doesn’t like pancakes?”

“It _is_ weird,” David agreed, pointing his fork at Hook. “You’re a weird guy.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Hook said, rummaging in his pocket as his phone buzzed. “ _Argh!_ ” he groaned, looking down at the blinking text. David looked over, shifting in his seat.

“Who is it?”

“Ruby,” Hook grimaced, reading the text. “She’s coming over.”

“To _my_ house?” David said, raising his eyebrows. “Why?”

“So she can bitch at me,” Hook shrugged, stowing the phone away in his pocket. “Ruby loves to bitch at me,” he explained, seeing David’s quizzical look. “One of her favorite pastimes. Of course, _I_ can think of a few other—“

“Too. Early,” Emma said through gritted teeth. 

“Way too early,” Snow agreed, looking at Hook sternly. “I just want you to know, man-whore—“

“That’s my given name,” Hook said to David in a loud whisper, giving him an enormous wink.

“—if Ruby’s coming over, I don’t want to be exposed to any gross make-out sessions.”

“Gah!” Emma gagged on her pancakes, dropping her fork. “Mom, _please!_ I’m eating!”

“Don’t worry,” Hook assured Snow. “She won’t be in the mood for that, anyway.” He leaned back in his seat, smiling bitterly at David. “She’s _mad_ at me.”

“What’d you do?” David asked, knowing perfectly well what he did. It was no secret how Hook was probably the most obnoxious boyfriend Ruby had ever had. And there had been a _lot_ of boyfriends. But he was the only one who’d perfected the art of ignoring her and suffocating her at the same time.

For his part, Hook had complained about her, plenty: she was clingy, he said. She called him all the time, demanding apologies, whining that he never took her out, asking him about other girls. Privately, David agreed with her: Hook spent more time with Belle and Emma than Ruby, which was—in his opinion—kind of a dick move. He felt bad for Ruby, but Hook had confided in him that he’d tried to break up with Ruby several times and she just… wouldn’t take the hint. David wasn’t entirely sure what that meant; all he knew for sure was, they were probably the worst couple he’d ever seen. All they did was fight; and if they weren’t fighting, they were getting drunk and treating everyone to a round of P.D.A that made everyone in a five-mile-radius groan in disgust. 

“…didn’t call her after that, I suppose,” Hook was saying when David’s attention turned back to the present moment. “But how many times do I have to bloody call her? It’s ridiculous. I mean, I _live_ at her gran’s inn, she sees me fifteen times a day.” He gave a shrug, smiling. “And at least—“

“Do _not_ say anything about the night, I can smell the innuendo from over here,” Neal said, getting up to rinse his plate. Hook grumbled, crossing his arms.

“You guys are ruining all my jokes today,” he complained.

“I thought your head hurt too much today,” Neal said, looking over. 

“Well, I lied, didn’t I?” Hook snapped. He breathed hard through his nose, apparently building up steam for a tirade on the injustices in his life, but Snow interrupted, frowning down at her own phone.

“David, Regina says she needs to come by and pick something up. Do you know what she’s talking about?”

David shook his head slowly. “Mmm…. no. No, she didn’t say anything to me.”

“Regina’s coming over?” Hook perked up, forgetting his whining instantly. He grinned at Neal. “You think she’ll still be wearing that vampire dress?”

“You’re disgusting,” Emma told him casually.

Hook waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, I know. When is she coming over?”

“Soon, I guess.” Snow lifted her eyebrows and smiled wryly. “Why? You want to touch up your make-up?”

“Your wife is a riot,” Hook said to David confidingly. “Don’t let go of that one.”

Snow set another pot of coffee on while David started to clear the plates, Emma putting them in the dishwasher. It was nice, he reflected, having his little family around him as they did chores together. It was like they’d been together the whole time, like they’d never sent Emma through the wardrobe. They belonged together, the three of them, and  they worked like a well-oiled machine: fitting perfectly, moving in harmony— other than the two spare parts sitting around the kitchen, one of them trying to invent the punchline for his latest dirty joke. 

David sighed: Hook and Neal were great “bros” (as Neal described it), but sometimes he wished it was just him, Snow, Emma, and Henry—when Henry wasn’t reminding them all he was at the obnoxious age of almost-fifteen.

There was a frantic knocking at the door. Hook looked at it warily, obviously caught between his eagerness to see Regina and his reluctance to see Ruby. David crossed the room to open the door, drying his hands on a towel.

“Is Hook here?” Ruby asked without preamble. She was wearing dark sunglasses, probably to protect her hungover eyes from the abrasive sun. 

David responded by the pulling the door open wider to reveal Hook, looking at her with a mixture of apprehension and petulance. Ruby strode in, jutting her chin at Snow by way of greeting, before plopping down next to Hook.

“Morning, love,” Hook said, smiling nervously. “How are— _bloody hell!_ ” he exclaimed as Ruby cracked her hand across his face. Everyone else looked on with wide eyes, freezing in what they were doing.

Ruby whipped off her sunglasses, so Hook could explicitly see her glaring at him. “You’re a jerk,” she said matter-of-factly. “You treated me like shit yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. And the day before that. I could go on like this, but I don’t really feel like saying ‘and the day before that’ a million times, because you’ve treated me like shit every day we’ve been together. _No,_ ” she said, holding up a hand as Hook opened his mouth. “I’m not done.” She folded her arms, leaning back in the seat as she considered him with narrowed eyes full of loathing.

“You talk to me like I’m an idiot. Well, I’m not. Just because I have feelings, and I have the emotional maturity to want to discuss them with someone who I should be able to confide in, doesn’t mean I’m stupid or whiny or naggy. It just means I need you to be there for me. And you never are. I was there for _you_ , every time you got all depressed about Emma—which, by the way, is a really dick move when you’re dating someone else—and you never even say ‘thanks’.  You think that just because you’re hot—“ Ruby closed her eyes, breathing in deeply—“ _So. Hot.” —s_ he snapped back to her flat tone—“I’ll let you treat me however you want. Well, I won’t. You ignore me. And I’m not going to be chained down by you, when there’s plenty of other hot guys out there who will appreciate me and pay attention to me. “

 She pushed herself out from the chair and snatched up her glasses, looking at Hook’s stunned face disdainfully. “We’re done.”

And with that, she swept out the door, walking with her head high. The room was silent, everyone watching with bated breath as Hook stared after her, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

“Shit,” he breathed finally, shaking himself out of his stupor. “What a _woman._ ”

Emma threw up her hands, letting out a derisive laugh. Neal stared at him, caught between exasperation and wonderment.

“You are so damaged,” he said, shaking his head slightly.

“But that was _incredible_ ,” Hook insisted, turning around to gape at him. “I mean… _wow._ ”

“You are so _damaged_ ,” Neal repeated loudly. “You can’t stand her when she’s hanging on your every word, but the minute as she tells you you’re an asshole, you’re in _love_ with her? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Hook sighed helplessly, falling back against his seat. “She’s _amazing._ ”

“ _And_ he hates pancakes,” Neal said to David, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fucking weirdo.”

Hook was still dreamily gazing off into space when Regina arrived, looking nervous and fidgety. David offered her a cup of coffee, even though he thought she looked as though she’d already had too much caffeine. 

“Thank you,” she said politely, taking a sip of the cup Snow handed her. Snow stood back, looking somewhat concerned, but as Regina was never one to confide much, she didn’t press the matter.

“So… what did you need to pick up?” David asked, pulling out a chair for her.

“What?” she said absently, taking a seat.

“Your text. You said you needed to pick something up,” Snow frowned, holding up her phone. Regina blinked.

“I did?”

“Yeah, you did.”  Snow tossed her the phone. “See?”

Regina raised an eyebrow as she read the text. “Oh… so I did,” she said, passing the phone back to Snow. She cleared her throat, trying to summon her usual composure. “I only said that because I wasn’t sure whether or not I wanted to tell you my idea. I was still thinking about it at the time, and… well, I needed an excuse for dropping by.”

“You could have said you wanted pancakes,” Neal suggested. Emma threw up her hands again.

“What is it with you and pancakes?” she said. “I feel like that’s the only thing you’ve talked about all day!”

“Your dad makes incredible pancakes,” Neal told her solemnly. “I’m a man who respects a good pancake.”

“If you’ve _quite_ finished,” Regina said stiffly. Neal and Emma looked at their shoes guiltily, like two children being reprimanded. Regina spared them a disparaging look before continuing. 

“I’ve noticed Henry’s been really…. _distant_ , especially these last few weeks. And I know that you guys think that it’s just growing pains and teenager stuff, but I know my son. I raised him, and for ten years, it was just me and him—so, yes, I flatter myself that I know him a _tad_ better than you do.” She took a deep breath. “And this is more than just being a teenager. Something’s going on with him. I don’t know what, but there’s something weird going on…” She trailed off as Neal silently set a plate of pancakes down in front of her. “Th-thank you,” she said in a puzzled tone.

“No problem,” Neal said, walking round the table and resting his folded arms on Hook’s head. Hook leaned his head slightly from the extra weight, but otherwise seemed not to notice. “Go on.”

Regina fiddled with the ring around her middle finger. “I want to send Henry back to Dr. Hopper.”

“You _what_?” Emma said incredulously.

David exchanged an uncomfortable look with Snow. Regina had sent Henry to Archie for therapy back when… no, he wouldn’t think about that. This had nothing to do with _then_ ; this was about now. “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea,” he said hesitantly.

Emma’s head whipped toward him. “Dad!” she exclaimed, sounding betrayed. “We can’t send Henry back there, he’ll hate us!”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Regina said sharply. “I wouldn’t suggest it if I had a better idea.”

Emma pursed her lips, wanting to argue, but Regina was right. “I s’pose,” she said in a low voice.

“You sure it’s not just girl stuff?” Neal asked, his chin resting on his arms. 

“ _Girl stuff?_ ” Emma and Regina said together, looking at Neal with identical alarmed expressions. Neal blinked a few times.

“You guys didn’t know?” he said, sounding genuinely surprised. “He’s got it bad for—“

“Grace, we _know,_ ” Snow said impatiently. David fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“No,” Neal frowned. “ _Ruby._ ”

“Ruby?” Regina hissed, her eyes turning black with fury. “That _slut!_ ”

“Regina!” Snow said admonishingly. “She’s my friend!”

“Do I _give_ a rat’s ass?” Regina flared up, jumping out of her chair. 

“Calm down!” Neal looked at her with wide, startled eyes. “Regina, it’s nothing to get upset about. It’s just a little crush.”

Regina glared at him, still breathing very hard through her nose, but she slowly retook her seat. “He’s talked to you about this?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. Regina didn’t look much reassured, so he added, “Look, Regina, I was fifteen once, too. It happens, it’s perfectly normal. Right, David?”

“He’s right,” David said, taking his turn to soothe Regina. He walked over, pulling out the chair across from her. Kicking Hook’s foot off the chair, he said soothingly, “If you still want to have Dr. Hopper check him out, see if he’s acting abnormally or something, we can do that. But it may not be time to worry just yet.”

Regina nodded slowly, looking slightly more relaxed. 

“Feeling better?” Neal asked kindly.

Regina shook her head. “I don’t like this whole… _girl stuff_ thing,” she grimaced. Emma made a noise of agreement. 

“It was going to happen, sooner or later,” David said gently, giving her a sad smile.

“Why not later?” Regina grumbled, folding her arms. 

“This _is_ later,” Emma sighed as she leaned against the counter. “We’re going to have to start dealing with him bringing home girlfriends. And one day, we’re going to have to deal with him bringing home a fiancé.”

“Hmm,” Regina said, her mouth thinning into a bitter line. “I’d love to meet the girl brave enough to latch her talons into my son.” She smiled cruelly. “I will _enjoy_ crushing her soul beneath my feet.”

“Okay, let’s…dial it down a few notches,” Neal said hesitantly, straightening up. “You sound a little psychotic now.”

Regina shrugged, looking considerably cheerier at the thought of psychologically destroying Henry’s potential girlfriends, and took up the fork Neal had set down by her pancakes. “I’ll make the appointment with Dr. Hopper,” she decided, cutting into them. “And in the meantime, we’ll just have to keep a closer eye on him. And David, may I congratulate you on these pancakes?” She took another careful bite. “They’re positively delightful.”

“Thanks,” David said, raising his eyebrows at the unexpected compliment. Usually, Regina criticized any food they offered her: it was too salty, too sweet, overcooked, undercooked—whatever she could find to complain about, really. If she was actually satisfied, that had to mean she was feeling better and not just putting up a show. Which was a relief: angry, worried Regina was a little trigger-happy with her fireballs, still.

“D’you ever find your book?” Emma asked, her legs dangling from the counter she sat atop. Regina shook her head, dabbing her mouth.

“No. I’m still looking for it. I have no idea where he could have hidden it. I’m rather starting to wonder if he took it at all—it may be that some moron just broke into my vault and stole from me. In which case, I’ll have to nail his hide to my front door to discourage any others.” She didn’t see David’s wince at her casually violent threat as she gathered up her purse and stood up. 

“Well, I’ll be off then,” she announced. She nodded at Neal. “Thank you.”

He waved a hand, shrugging. “’S’nothing.”

“I’m aware, but thank you all the same. Actually, I’d love to pick your brain over a cup of coffee, sometime. It occurs to me that Henry would talk to you about things he wouldn’t say to me or Emma. You may be able to put a few more anxieties to rest. Shall we say—“ she consulted her planner, tapping a pen against her lips—“Saturday? Around eight?”

Neal raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Like a date?” he said, making a face.

Regina looked at him with thinly veiled disdain. “Neal, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d rather be eaten alive by a crazed badger with rabies than go on a date with you.”

His eyebrows jumped. “That’s fairly specific.”

“Yes, well…” She smiled uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t look at you in that way. Not that you’re not a decent human being and all, and I’m sure _some_ women find you attractive, but me personally?” She flopped her arms, shrugging. “Meh.”

David would have expected Neal to be at least a little offended, considering that Regina basically told him she found it baffling that any woman would find him attractive; but Neal just smiled lightly and said, “Ah, that’s okay.”

Regina gave him a strange look, but twitched a smile at him. “Eight this Saturday, then? At Granny’s.”

“Granny’s,” he nodded. 

Regina nodded a silent farewell to the rest of them, gave Hook a disdainful look (as was her custom), and walked out calmly. David blew out a breath, closing the door behind her. 

“Regina Mills, ladies and gentlemen,” he said sweeping his arm out. “Neal, thanks for calming her down, some. Probably saved us a visit to the hospital for third-degree burns.”

“No trouble,” Neal shrugged.

“And Hook, thanks for not leering or making inappropriate comments or just being yourself, really. That seemed to put her in a better mood.”

“Ruby…” he sighed dreamily, apparently not hearing David at all. 

David looked at him tiredly for a moment, and rubbed his eyes, sighing. “We should probably make _two_ appointments with Dr. Hopper.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

Whale whistled as he opened the door to Examination Room A, his clipboard tucked under his arm. “Morning, Roland,” he said cheerily to the dark-haired little boy perched on the examination table. His father hovered nearby, rubbing his thumb over his mouth worriedly. 

Whale continued whistling as he dropped in his chair and kicked off to wheel over to Roland. “What’s wrong, buddy?” he said, pulling out his little flashlight and immediately checking his nose for little toys: Roland had a penchant for putting tiny objects in his nose, which earned him frequent visits to Dr. Whale.

“He’s got this rash on his arm,” Robin explained, his face still creased in worry. “It’s been there for a few days now, but it hasn’t gotten any better.”

Whale nodded slowly; Robin was a bit of a hypochondriac when it came to his son. Normally, he found it a little annoying, seeing as he had other patients with far bigger worries to attend to, but he was in too good a mood today to really care.

“Does he have any allergies?” he asked, checking Roland’s ears.

“Well, he may be allergic to peanuts,” Robin said, smoothing his son’s hair anxiously. “He always spits them out.”

Whale raised his eyebrows. “Does he ever get any symptoms after eating peanuts? A rash, tongue swelling—“

“No, no, no! Nothing!” Robin said, shaking his head. Whale tried not to smile.

“Then my guess would be he just doesn’t like peanuts,” he said gently. “It’s okay, Robin. It’s an acquired taste.”

Robin didn’t see him roll his eyes as he wheeled back for his prescription pad. “And the rash?”

“Looks like poison ivy,” Whale said, scribbling on the pad. He ripped off the sheet and handed it to Robin. “Should clear up pretty soon.”

Robin squinted down at the sheet. “Why is doctors’ handwriting always so hard to read?” he asked, shaking his head.

“It’s part of the training,” Whale told him seriously. “Your handwriting has to be illegible.”

Robin looked up, smiling uncertainly. “Right….”

“No, it’s true. That’s the whole reason I became a doctor,” Whale said, standing up. “My handwriting sucked so much when I was a kid, they told me this was the only field that would take me.”

Robin helped Roland hop down from the table. “Well, regardless—thanks very much, doctor. Hopefully Roland won’t go wandering off through the woods without Daddy again,” he said, giving Roland a stern look.

“Have a good one, guys,” Whale said as they walked out, then grabbed his clipboard and resumed whistling.

His good mood continued through the whole day: he brightly smiled at his patients, he hummed as he strode through the corridors, and he didn’t curse or kick the vending machine _once_ (even when it denied him his SunChips). 

“Afternoon, ladies,” he said brightly to the nurses in the break room, who were busy gossiping about Storybrooke’s latest. One of them—Marge, actually— turned around, looking at him in surprise.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” she said interestedly. 

Whale shrugged, smiling as he poured himself a coffee. “I’ve been feeling good lately.”

“ _Oh…_ ” she said, smiling slyly. “I know what it is…”

Whale snorted. “I’m fairly confident you don’t.” _No one,_ not even Marge, would ever guess the reason behind his good mood: that he had found himself a perfect roommate in the recently resurrected Sheriff Graham.

Whale would come home to a fresh home-cooked meal every night, no matter the hour. Every morning, he would wake up to the sound of the coffee already percolating and smell it waft throughout the whole house. Yesterday, he’d even been pleasantly surprised when the smell of chocolate chip cookies greeted him when he opened the door.

And Graham did more than cook: he cleaned the entire house, did the yard work—he even did _dusting_ , for God’s sake. And when Whale got home and dug into his gourmet meal, he would sit with him and ask him about his day.

 Sometimes, on his night off, they would watch television together, laughing uproariously at stupid comedies and gasping at badass action movies. It was nice to finally do that _with_ someone, instead of by himself with only late-night takeout to keep him company.

Of course, it wasn’t all goofing around. Henry came by pretty much every day, so he and Whale could school Graham on the happenings of Storybrooke. Everything was so different than how it was before Graham died, they felt that some pre-adjustment was necessary. They still didn’t know how they were going to tell people that Henry had managed to bring him back, but that was a bridge they didn’t have to cross just yet.

“Dr. Whale?” Marge prodded him with her finger. “Are you all right?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. I’m fine,” he said, blinking as he returned to the present. “What were we talking about?”

“I said, ‘what’s her name?’” Marge said as the other nurse smiled at him knowingly. Whale looked back, bemused.

“Who’s name?”

“Your new _girlfriend!”_

Whale choked on his coffee. “Girlfriend?” he repeated.”Oh, wow. No. It’s not—no, you’re _way_ off. It’s just….” He waved his hand, struggling to think of a story. “It’s this new deodorant,” he said finally. “It’s empowering.”

“All right, fine,” Marge shrugged, still smiling. “Don’t tell me. I’ll let you keep your secret girlfriend to yourself for now. But I’ll find out eventually,” she added in a sing-song voice, wagging her finger at him.

“Okay, then,” he chuckled nervously.

* * *

 

When he got home, he saw Henry’s bike leaning against the side of the house in its usual spot. Whale whistled as he went up the steps, pausing only to check the mail: bills, grocery ads, that nature magazine Graham had subscribed to…

“Hey, guys,” he called, opening the front door and tossing the mail on the front table.

“Hey, Dr. Whale,” Henry called back in his adolescent monotone.

“Evening, Victor!” Graham said brightly, beaming when he entered the kitchen. Whale sniffed the air, closing his eyes in pleasure. 

“Okay, I don’t know what you’re making, but it smells like rainbow hugs and happiness,” he said, plopping down in the chair next to Henry. He jutted his chin at him. “’S’up, Henry?”

Henry half-smiled. “Meh,” he shrugged. “Nothing, really. I’ve got some lame-ass paper to finish later, so that kind of sucks, but whatever.”

Whale frowned. “Well, look, Henry, if you’ve got homework to do, maybe you should go home. I mean, school is more—“

“No, no, no, it’s fine,” Henry said quickly. 

Whale raised his eyebrows skeptically.

“I’m _serious,_ ” Henry said, laughing unconvincingly. “Helping Graham readjust is _way_ more important than my literary opinion on _Othello._ It’s okay, it’s nearly finished, anyway.”

Whale didn’t feel altogether reassured. “Is it?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Henry said. “I’ve only got the conclusion to do, that’s it. It’ll take me five minutes.” He smiled brightly. “And look, I got the board finished last night.”

Whale looked at the poster board Henry proudly presented him, rather impressed: it was a diagram of what amounted to Henry’s family tree, explaining his lineage from Rumplestiltskin to Snow and Charming, factoring in the multi-faceted Regina relationship, tracing the complicated past between Hook and Neal, all through Belle… Whale blinked a few times, feeling disoriented by the mess of lines.

“Jesus, Henry… you’re going to make a _fortune_ at your graduation,” he said, in awe of the sheer quantity of familial ties attached to this kid. 

“I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed,” Graham remarked, stirring his mystery stew. Whale got up, looking toward the pot interestedly, but Graham smacked his hand and pointed the spoon at him threateningly. “Uh-uh-uh—you can _wait_.”

“Just a little?” Whale pleaded.

“No.”

“ _Please?”_  

“I told you, _no._ ”

“You guys are literally married,” Henry snorted, shaking his head. 

Whale instantly remembered Marge’s earlier comment, accusing him of a secret girlfriend. He blew out a breath slowly, reflecting that it was kind of pathetic that Graham was probably the best girlfriend he’d ever had. Maybe it was time to take a closer look at those emails he kept getting from Match.com.

Graham lowered the heat, so his stew could simmer, and leaned against the counter. “All right,” he said, folding his arms. “I’m ready.”

Henry propped his board up on the table, then took a plastic green lightsaber out of his backpack. “It was all I could find for a pointer,” he said defensively when Whale raised his eyebrows. 

“All right…”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Whale shrugged, and waved his hand at him. “Go on, young Jedi. _Educate the mortal._ ”

“That would be me,” Graham added helpfully. 

Henry spared Whale a last disparaging look before turning back to his board.”So,” he said, thwacking it with his lightsaber. “You know my biological mom, Emma—“

“Emma…” Graham had a little smile on his face, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I remember her. She’s got _moxie,”_ he grinned at Whale. 

“Mmm.”

“Fire, you know? Passion—“

“Okay, good, you know Emma!” Henry said loudly. “Now, _this—_ “ he moved the saber—“is my dad, Neal. He’s awesome,” he added, smiling fondly at the picture.

“And has lingering feelings for Emma,” Graham said, carefully neutral. 

Henry’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah… ?”

Graham nodded slowly. “Interesting.”

Henry exchanged a look with Whale, but didn’t pursue the matter. “Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat. “ _These_ two are my mom’s parents, Snow and Charming—you know them as Mary Margaret and David. And _Snow_ is _Regina’s_ step-daughter. So that makes Regina my step-grandmother, as well as my adopted mother. With me so far?”

Graham furrowed his brow, absorbing Henry’s words, then nodded again. 

“Now, on my dad’s side, we’ve got his parents: Rumplestiltskin—Mr. Gold, to you— and Milah, okay? But they split, so now Rumplestiltskin is married to Belle—you haven’t met her—and Milah _was_ with Hook until she died two hundred some years ago. So Hook, is Neal’s unofficial stepfather, which makes him my unofficial step-grandfather. But Belle is my _official_ step-grandmother because she and Rumplestiltskin got married a few years ago. Plus, she and Hook have this really weird friendship going on, so do with that what you will. Questions?”

“Yeah, a few,” Graham said, looking confused now. “So…Hook is Neal’s stepfather… because he was with his mother _two hundred years ago?_ ”

“He lived in Neverland and shit,” Whale yawned, leaning back in his seat. “So did Neal… and Rumplestiltskin, he’s been kicking around since the dawn of time, so…”

“And yet, both Neal and this—“ Graham looked at Hook’s picture disapprovingly—“this _Hook_ are pursuing your mother?”

Henry frowned. “Well, yeah, but Hook _pursues_ —“ he made air-quotes—“anything breathing, so don’t jump to conclusions.” He looked at his board, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Plus, my mom and dad are going to get back together eventually.”

 _Oh, boy._ Whale sucked in a breath. “Just don’t count on it, Henry. Adult relationships are a lot more complicated than—“

“Dr. Whale, please!” Henry said exasperatedly, holding up his hand. “My parents are getting back together, okay?”

“Okay, listen, Henry,” Whale said carefully, leaning forward in his chair. “I know you want to think that, I just don’t want you to be crushed if—“

“GETTING. BACK. TOGETHER, _”_ Henry said stubbornly, thwacking the board with every word. Whale sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“All right, Henry,” he said resignedly, leaning back in his seat. Henry glared at him, still breathing hard.

“Any other questions, Graham?” he asked, not taking his eyes off Whale.

“Yes.” Graham pointed to Hook’s picture hesitantly, frowning. “Is he wearing _eyeliner_?”

“Yep,” Whale said, flicking his eyes to the picture. 

“Er…may I ask why?”

Henry lifted his eyes, shrugging as he considered. “You may,” he said finally. “But no one really knows.”

Graham nodded slowly, still looking confused. “Okay…”

“You get used to it,” Whale assured him. 

“Don’t fixate on him, he’s not that important anyway,” Henry scoffed. “All you have to know about him is he’s there, and he has a gift for making things uncomfortable and weird.”

Graham raised his eyebrows at the hostility in Henry’s voice, glancing at Whale for an explanation. Whale shrugged, waving his hand.

“He’s kind of a slut, and he hits on the kid’s mom all the time,” he said in a low voice. “And you saw how he feels about his parents giving it another go, so—“

“Dr. Whale! Please!” Henry said loudly. “I thought we discussed this!”

“It was my fault, Henry,” Graham said quickly. “Won’t happen again, I promise. Shall we go on?”

Henry frowned suspiciously, then nodded. “All right, let’s keep going,” he agreed. He pointed the lightsaber at Regina. “Now, according to my book, Regina’s mom— _Cora_ —also had a thing going with Rumplestiltskin at one point, so it’s possible I’m going to find out about some…” He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking hard. “Some adoptive aunt or uncle, who would also be my step-great aunt or uncle, running around Storybrooke. In case those two had any kids. Fingers crossed, they didn’t, because _that_ would be one unholy union, let me tell you.” Henry paused to take a sip of water. “God, my throat is getting sore, explaining all this,  
 he said, massaging his throat. “Okay, so anyway…”

Henry explained for another twenty minutes about all the familial connections he knew about: he went back at least a century, explaining why this person hated that person, why this thing made it awkward for those two to sit at a party together, who slept with who a long time ago and made everything complicated about who this person’s _real_ father was, and so on. Whale drifted off somewhere around Princess Eva, and woke up just as Henry was finishing the story of Rumplestiltskin’s father, Malcolm.

“But, alas, he is no longer with us, so I guess we’ll never know,” Henry said, snapping the lightsaber shut. “Questions?”

Graham stared at him openmouthed, his eyes bloodshot. His undone tie was hanging loosely around his neck, and his hair was sticking up, as though he had run his fingers anxiously through it. “Uh…”

“Damn it!” Henry said suddenly, looking at the clock. “I was supposed to be home twenty minutes ago! _Damn it!_ ” He continued swearing under his breath as he gathered his things and shoved them in his backpack.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?” were his last words before he shot out of the house. Whale blinked a few times, a little startled by the suddenness of his departure, and turned to Graham.

“Okay, let me explain to you the important things now,” he said, getting up to taste the stew. “So, the available ladies in Storybrooke are as follows: Tink—I’d give her around a nine; Mulan—solid ten, but she might be into ladies, no one ever really cleared that up for me; Ruby—another ten, but she may or may not be available, I’ll have to ask Marge…”

 


	16. Chapter 16

Regina slowly turned in a circle, sweeping her gaze around her vault. Ever since she’d found Henry in there a few weeks ago, she’d been checking it every day, but nothing else had gone missing: nothing but that book. 

She didn’t quite know what to make of it. Every time Henry spent the night at Emma’s, she ransacked his bedroom, searching for it. And then when Henry spent the night with her, Emma would go through his bedroom at the loft. Neither of them ever found anything, which made Regina nervous: either Henry was lying to both of them, or someone else had stolen it.

She’d taken to sealing the vault with a blood seal: no one but one of her blood relatives would be able to enter, and as she had none in Storybrooke, her vault had never been more secure. It broke her heart that she had to seal it against her own son, but it was necessary.

“Regina?” Robin’s voice said outside the vault. “Are you in— _OOF!_ ”

“Robin?” Regina burst open the doors of the vault, poking her head out to see Robin sprawled on the grass. “Are you okay?” she asked, hurrying over to him, and bending down to check for cuts and bruises. “What happened, did you trip?”

“No,” he groaned, holding his head. “I tried to open the door…it pushed me…”

Regina closed her eyes exasperatedly. “Robin, I _told_ you not to touch anything after I put the blood seal up.”

“I forgot,” he said, wincing as she helped him up.

“You forgot,” she repeated, raising her eyebrows. 

“Yes,” he said tiredly. “I forgot. Cut me some slack, Regina. You remember what it’s like to have a four-year-old.”

“Henry was a very disciplined four-year-old—“

“Regina.” Robin shook his head. “We’re not doing this now.” 

“All right.” 

He impatiently brushed dirt off his knees, trying to rub out the grass stains futilely. Regina touched his shoulder.

“Robin…they’re ruined. It’s over.”

“I just _got_ these,” he sighed, looking down at his jeans sadly. 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

With another sigh, he hooked his arm around hers and they walked together toward Granny’s, talking about nothing: Robin told her about Will Scarlet’s misadventures while babysitting Roland; Regina told him about her feud with Archie over updating Pongo’s dog license. 

“…and I said, ‘Really, Archie, there’s no reason to get upset’, but there you are,” she finished as they sat down at their table. 

“Funny. I never imagined Archie cursing,” Robin mused. “But those were some _strong_ words, weren’t they?”

“It was a bit disconcerting,” Regina agreed as Ruby came over with the coffee. “Decaf for Robin,” she reminded her.

Robin smiled kindly at her. “Doing all right?” he asked, peering at her tear-stained, mascara-run face. Ruby nodded mutely, pouring him his decaf.

“Anything else?” she asked in a very dejected voice.

“No, that will be all,” Regina said dismissively, waving her hand. Ruby turned away, a shuddering sigh escaping her. Robin watched her go, his smile fading into a pitying grimace. Regina knit her brows. “What’s up with her?”

“Oh…” Robin shrugged, stirring his coffee. “She and Hook are… well, they’re over, from what I hear.”

Regina laughed shortly. “And this upsets her?”

“Clearly. Mind you, she’s not nearly as upset as Hook is.” Robin took a sip, shaking his head. “Poor bastard’s a wreck. Says he’ll _never love again._ ” He batted his eyes while Regina threw her head back and laughed. “His words.”

“I thought they hated each other,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “He was always complaining about how she… what was that _eloquent_ phrase he used? ‘Talks my bloody ear off, I need to get smashed just to spend an hour with her.’”

Robin tried to hide a smile. “I don’t think it’s the _conversation_ he misses.”

“Hmm,” Regina agreed disapprovingly, taking another sip. “Well, Neal should be here soon. It’s seven-fifty-six, and we agreed on eight o’clock, so if he’s _not_ here, I may have to—“

Robin suddenly lifted a hand, silencing her as the little bell rang: Neal and Hook walked in, Hook carefully avoiding looking at the counter. Neal said something to him, and then went to the counter, probably to place their order. Hook looked around for a table and, seeing Robin, immediately broke into a smile.

“Ugh,” Regina muttered as he came over, pulling two chairs with him.

“Regina! Robin! Fancy seeing you here!” he said brightly, sitting in the chair closer to Robin. 

“Yes. The diner, at the same table we sit at every day. Who’d’ve thunk?” Regina said dryly. “Why are _you_ here?”

Hook blinked rapidly. “Um—“

“I brought him with me,” Neal said, coming up from behind and clapping a hand on Hook’s shoulder. “Didn’t want to leave the guy alone, he’s a mess,” he muttered to Regina as Hook reached for a menu. 

“Neal!” Regina hissed. “I don’t want to talk about my son—“

“Our son.”

“Oh, _God_ , don’t say it like that, that makes it sound like he’s our son together, like… like you and me—ugh, Neal, no. Just say… er—“

“Henry?”

“That works. I don’t want to talk about _Henry_ with that mustachioed innuendo  in the room!”

“Hey,” Neal said, sounding faintly annoyed. “You brought _your_ sidekick.” 

Regina narrowed her eyes, using the same stern look she gave Henry when he was being difficult. However, Neal wasn’t quailing under her gaze, as Henry normally did: he simply stared back, raising his eyebrows as if to say, _I’ve got all day…_

“Oh, very well!” she snapped, not feeling like wasting all her time silently arguing with Neal. “But if he makes _one_ dirty joke—“

“I’ll smack him for you,” Neal promised.

“No. _I_ want to smack him. I need you to hold him still.”

Neal laughed, earning a surprised smile from her. “Okay.”

Ruby came by, balancing a tray in one hand. She completely ignored Hook, setting both plates in front of Neal. “There you go,” she said softly, a pale imitation of her normal bouncy/irritating self.

“Thanks, Ruby,” Neal said, keeping a tight grip on Hook’s wrist. Hook gave him a sideways glare, but obeyed the silent command and didn’t say anything.

Regina chuckled to herself. “That is an _excellent_ trick,” she said to Neal once Ruby left. “I didn’t know he had an ‘off’ button.”

“Oh, around you, Regina, how could I _possibly_ be turned off?” Hook said immediately, grinning at her wickedly. Robin sighed, rubbing the corners of his eyes. Regina’s smile faded into a grimace.

“Neal.”

“Sorry, man,” Neal said, holding Hook’s head steady.

“Neal, what the hell are you— _BLOODY HELL, REGINA!_ ”

Regina’s hand still stung, but apparently not as much as Hook’s face: there was still a bright red imprint of her hand on it, even as Neal released him, muttering an apology. Hook looked at her, betrayed, putting his hand to his face.

“You’re so mean to me,” he said in a hurt voice.

“You’re offensive to women,” Regina said blandly, smoothing her jacket. 

“Yes, but I’m really pretty.”

“Ah, but I don’t care.”

Hook looked rather put out by her last  remark, and he moodily poked his fork around his pie. Neal watched him with the same expression as an exasperated parent watching their toddler.

“You’re _mutilating_ it,” he complained.

Hook gave a helpless sigh and dropped his head on the table. “My _heart’s_ mutilated,” he said in muffled voice. Regina and Robin exchanged a look, but said nothing. Neal raised his eyes to the ceiling, clearly trying to remain patient.

“Okay, fine, your heart’s mutilated,” he said with forced calm. “But the pie really didn’t have anything to do with it, so stop moping about Ruby and just eat like a normal human.”

“I hate pie,” Hook said petulantly, lifting his head and pushing the plate away. “I hate _everything._ ”

“Oh, _Killy_ ,” Neal said patronizingly, slinging his arms around Hook’s shoulder; Hook tried to shrug him off, but Neal only held on tighter. “ _Poor little Killy._ ”

“Neal, come on, stop—“

“Killy misses his lady love,” Neal said in the same mocking tone. “Don’t you, Killy?”

“Get _off._ ”

“Then stop bitching,” Neal said flatly, dropping his arm. “If you’re going to be a baby about it, I’m going to treat you like a baby.”

Hook didn’t have a reply to that, other than muttering under his breath like a disgruntled child. Regina soon lost interest in him, and raised her eyebrows at Neal. 

“So, do you think Henry’s been acting weird lately?” she asked. “Other than the teenager-theory, which you guys are so fond of.”

Neal took a moment to answer. “Honestly… he _is_ acting a little weird. I mean, he’s been getting more and more distant for a while but I think that part is just… you know, growing pains and stuff. But this last month or so, he’s been acting kind of funny.”

“I thought so, too,” Regina said, her forehead creasing worriedly. “But I’m afraid to ask him too much about it, I don’t want him to feel trapped, and then withdraw even more…” She sighed, rubbing her temple. “I don’t know what to do.”

“How about me?” Hook offered, snapping his head up.

Regina slit her eyes at him, her mouth becoming a thin line. “I don’t know what it is that makes you feel safe enough to say things like that around me, but it really shouldn’t,” she said icily. 

He grinned at her, moving almost imperceptibly closer. “Well, I’ve been told I’m quite brave…and adventurous.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”

“I’ve been told I’m extremely violent and _creative,_ if you know what I mean.” Regina flashed him a sarcastic smile. “Hint: it involves piano wire and a shovel.” She abruptly turned back to Neal, who had watched the exchange with an amused smile. “Now, then. You know about my magic book being missing, I assume?”

“Yeah, I heard about it,” Neal said, his smile fading. “Why, you actually think he took it?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “But he’s been so secretive… like he’s hiding something. It makes me wonder.”

“You don’t have a way to know for sure?” Neal asked, turning his eyebrows up. “Like a spell? Or at least a few security cameras in your vault?”

“I didn’t bother putting cameras in there, I didn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to try to rob me!” Regina said, stung. 

“Re _lax_ ,” Neal said soothingly, putting a hand out. “I’m just asking.”

“Neal, are you eating that pie?” Robin asked hopefully.

Neal and Regina swiveled their heads to frown at him. Robin blinked at their identical disapproving looks.

“What?”

“We’re having a conversation about our possibly mentally-disturbed son—“

“Neal.”

“About the possibly mentally-disturbed son we share only legally, and you’re asking me about pie?”

“Have my pie,” Hook said suddenly, sweeping his plate across the table. “I _hate_ pie.”

“Oh, you hate everything,” Neal scoffed.

Hook glared at him. “Yes, I _know_. Thank you, NEAL.”

“You’re welcome, KILLY.”

“GAH!” Hook threw his head on the table again, wrapping his arms around it as he muttered indistinguishably. Neal turned back to Regina, shaking his head apologetically.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “He’s just so—“

“Dull, yes. Now, Henry’s been spending a lot of time out of the house, do you think—?”

“I can’t take it anymore, Neal!” Hook sat up, a wild look in his eyes. “I have to talk to her. I want her back.”

“You _can’t_ ,” Neal said, tugging him down as he rose in his seat. “We went over this. You were _miserable_ when you were with her.”

“I think I love her,” Hook said desperately.

“No. You don’t.”

“Yes, I do, Neal. I love her.”

“You said the same thing about Penelope Cruz in the Revlon commercial you saw last week!” Neal said exasperatedly.

Hook looked around the room, breathing hard as he ran his hand frantically through his hair. “Where is she?” he breathed. “I have to tell her.”

“This is so _stupid_ ,” Regina said to no one in particular. 

“Ruby!” Hook whirled around, looking toward the counter at a startled Ruby. Regina raised her eyebrows as Hook closed his eyes in anguish and said, his voice, full of emotion, “Oh, Ruby, love, I’m so sorry.”

Ruby stared at him with wide eyes, then slowly swept her gaze to the side, as if silently asking for confirmation that this was actually happening. “Okay…” she said slowly.

He opened his eyes: they looked shinier than usual. Regina curled her lip disdainfully. Oh, God. He wasn’t going to _cry,_ was he? 

“Robin,” she said in a low voice. “Maybe we should go, I don’t want to be witness to another public make-out session.”

“You won’t be,” Robin said, contentedly working on Hook’s pie. “She’ll never take him back.”

“Of course she will,” Neal grimaced, apparently giving up as Hook strode over, proclaiming his love in an annoyingly loud voice. 

“Care to make it interesting?” Robin asked, raising his eyebrows. 

Neal considered him. “All right,” he shrugged. “Twenty bucks says she’ll take him back.”

Robin shook on it. “You’re on, mate.”

“Well, hold on,” Regina said, surprising herself as well as Neal and Robin. “I want in on this.”

Robin and Neal looked at each other in wonder, before turning back to her. “Okay?” Robin prodded. 

“I’ll bet twenty bucks that she takes him back— _but_ , by this time tomorrow, they’re broken up again.” Regina smiled in satisfaction, holding out her hand for them to shake. “What do you say, boys?”

“I’ll take it,” Robin smiled, taking her hand and kissing her fingers. She gently tugged it out of his grip, smiling nonetheless.

“Neal?” She offered him her hand. “Just shake it,” she added as he took her hand. He rolled his eyes, and broke off their handshake to turn around and watch Hook and Ruby’s showdown.

“Ruby, _please_!” he was saying desperately, swinging her around by the arm with his hook. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I can _change._ ”

“No!” she said, unhooking her arm. “You’re an asshat!”

“A what?”

“It means you’re a jerk, you _jerk!_ ”

She stalked away from him, shoving past another waitress and nearly knocking her tray to the floor. Hook raced after her, pausing to give the waitress a once-over and a wink, and then darted through the door.

“Ruby!” they heard him call out. “Ruby, love, please forgive me!”

“No!” her voice yelled back, just as audible behind closed doors as it had been out in the open. “I told you, you’re an asshat! And I don’t date asshats, you asshat!”

“I think I love you!”

There was a silence. Neal flashed a triumphant smile at Robin, who was now looking very grumpy indeed. Regina smirked: in a matter of seconds, it would be down to her and Neal. 

“You do?” Ruby’s voice said shakily. Regina vaguely wondered if she was aware of how much her voice carried. 

“Yes, love, I think I do,” Hook’s voice said earnestly. His voice also carried, but Regina was inclined to think that was more for dramatic effect. 

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

His voice held note a irritation. “Yes, love, I already said that.”

A loud sniff. “I… I don’t know.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Regina muttered, rolling her eyes. Neal looked up at the ceiling, as if asking God if this was really necessary. Robin continued to pout and pick at Hook’s pie.

“Please, Ruby… Give me another chance, _please._ ”

Another sniff, followed by a tearful giggle. “All right.”

“And there you go!” Neal said, slamming his hand down on the table in victory. The conversation in the diner picked up again, thankfully masking the rest of Hook and Ruby’s discussion—at least, Regina hoped that was all it was masking—and the sound of clattering forks and voices rose, bringing back the normal homey, crowded atmosphere of Granny’s. 

“Don’t get so cocky,” Robin said, setting his jaw. “Regina’s still in, she can still beat you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Neal shrugged, though he didn’t look too concerned. “And no cheating,” he said suddenly, pointing a finger at Regina. “You can’t egg Ruby on to break up with him just to win.”

“And you can’t egg Hook on to _not_ break up with her just so _you_ can win,” she shot back. “Because if you do—“

“I know, I know,” he said, waving his hand. “Piano wire and shovel, I was there.”

She smiled, surprised to find that she rather liked Neal in a social context. “Indeed.”

After a while, they decided they had to be grown-ups again and go back to discussing Henry. Neal offered some insights, relating to the mindset of a moody teenaged boy, Robin contributing with murmured agreements; Regina pressed him for anything odd Henry might have said or done recently, but all Neal could come up with was the “girl stuff” nonsense. 

By the end of the night, they had discussed and dissected practically everything Henry had said to either of them over the last month. Regina felt as though they had a thousand puzzle pieces spread out, but hadn’t managed to link any together. Still, it made her feel better to be talking about it to someone who understood her position. She’d tried to discuss it with Emma before, but there was a lot of lingering tension left over when it came to Henry. She didn’t have to worry about that with Neal, so for once, she didn’t feel so alone in her concerns.

“Thanks, Neal,” she said, giving him a rare genuine smile. “This was… well, it was nice. I’m surprised.”

“Surprised,” he repeated, grinning at her. “Thanks for that.”

“Well, I am,” she said, allowing Robin to help her with her coat. “I honestly thought you were a slow-witted hobo-man who drank coffee and ate pancakes all day, but you’re actually quite pleasant.” She took Robin’s hand, and nodded a farewell at Neal. “I look forward to collecting my money from you tomorrow.”

“We’ll see,” he said in a sing-song voice. “He thinks he’s in love. Again,” he added, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, well…I’m sure another Penelope Cruz commercial will take care of that. Goodbye, Neal.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

Emma took in a deep breath, feeling her heart flutter uncomfortably in her chest. She hated hospitals. They were so sickeningly-sterile and serious, filled with pain and suffering and death…and perhaps, worst of all, obnoxious vending machines that wouldn’t surrender the SunChips, no matter how many times you kicked it. 

She leaned her head back, trying to calm herself as she waited for Dr. Whale to come back with her test results. Wincing, she gently pressed a hand to her side, which still ached from the fall that had landed her in the hospital that morning.

Emma had gotten to the station early that morning; way earlier than Neal or Hook anyway. She had been dutifully pulling out another stack of paperwork when a curious buzzing noise interrupted her: alas, a fly, hovering near the top window sill. And because she detested flies with the burning passion of a thousand Arabian suns, Emma had decided to wheel her chair over to the window so she could smash the life out of the little bugger.

Unfortunately, her swing was a _little_ too energetic for her wheeled chair to allow: it slid, and she fell to the floor with a painful _crash!_ and a loud cry of pain that startled those horrible birds that had been chirping all morning away from the window (the one silver lining in all of this). 

When Neal came in, he spotted her leaning against the cell, holding her ribs gingerly, and insisted on driving her to the hospital. Emma had protested, using her mountain of work as an excuse, but Neal turned a deaf ear to it all.

And so here she was. Waiting to see the damage. Hoping Dr. Whale wouldn’t come back and diagnose her with some fatal illness. She drew in another breath, and looked around the room at the empty bed beside her, hoping it wouldn’t be her new home for the next few years as she battled the African Flesh-Eating Virus, or something equally horrible.

The sound of footsteps padding down the hall pulled her back to the present. Dr. Whale poked his head into the room. Emma looked up as he entered, her knees shaking. He was holding a clipboard, a small smile playing on his face.

“So?” she said anxiously.

“So…” He smiled widely at her, his eyes gleaming. Emma raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to speak. Whale threw his arms in the air. “You’re pregnant!” 

Emma’s heart dropped. “ _What?_ ”

“Nah, I’m kidding,” he chuckled. “You’re not pregnant. But,” he shrugged, “you _do_ have a fracture in your ribs, so….” He waved his hands as if to say, _It could have been worse_.

Emma stared at him openmouthed, her hand on her rapidly beating heart. “What is wrong with you?” she said breathlessly. “Why would you do that to me?”

Whale shrugged, flipping through the papers on his clipboard.. “That’s how I break bad news to all my patients. Softens the blow.”

She frowned. “What happens when they actually _want_ to be pregnant?”

Whale stared off into space, considering. “Then… we have a problem.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, waiting for further explanation, but he didn’t offer any.

“Anyhow, nothing to worry about, very minor procedure,” he said, tossing the clipboard down. “Although I have to ask…” He was clearly trying not to smile. “You seem more scared than surprised that you could be expecting Emma Junior. Are you, uh…?”

“Seriously?” Emma said, looking at him incredulously. “You perverted little—“

“I’m asking as a doctor,” he said loudly, talking over her.

She smiled at him sarcastically. “Right…”

“I have a Ph.D. And an M.D. Do you know what means?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “It means I not only have a license to practice medicine, I have a license to ask as many intrusive, personal, private, embarrassing questions I want. So I’m asking as a licensed professional—“ his voice turned serious—“should I run a blood test? Because if there was a fetus, this is a very critical developmental period—“

“NO,” Emma said loudly, shaking her head emphatically. “There’s no chance of it anyways, I’m not even… There’s no chance, okay?”

“You’re sure?” he asked, raising an eyebrow sternly. “From what I hear, you drank a _lot_ at that Halloween party. Maybe something happened…?”

“Dr. _Whale!_ ” she said scandalously, looking at him with wide eyes. “Are you calling me a _slut?”_

“No,” he said, frowning. “No, I’m just saying, memory loss is a common side effect—“

“My _parents_ were there, you fucking weirdo!” she practically shouted. “What’s the matter with you?”

“I was only asking, because I can get you a blood test while you’re—“

“I don’t _need_ a blood test!”

“Relax, all right?” he said, looking rather alarmed. “Jesus, woman!”

Emma looked back at him, breathing hard as she tried to abate the panic in her chest. “No, I’m sorry,” she said, putting a hand on her rapidly beating heart. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from. I guess I’m just…”

Whale raised his eyebrows, prodding her to go on.

“I don’t know…I’ve been really stressed lately, I’m a little skittish, I guess. You know, between work a-and the guys a-a-and Henry—“ she sighed, rubbing her  eyes—“oh, God, especially Henry…it’s all been a mess.”

Whale nodded thoughtfully. “What’s up with Henry?” he asked cautiously, looping his foot around his stool to sit by her. Emma shrugged.

“I don’t know…” She looked up at him curiously. “He’s been spending a lot of time shadowing you. Does he talk to you or anything?”

Something flashed across Whale’s face, but he shook his head. “Nope. Just having him follow me on rounds, mostly. Sometimes, he comes into the clinic, but we don’t talk much on a personal level.”

Emma nodded, feeling rather disappointed. “Hmm… well, thanks. And sorry for—for losing my shit. Like I said—“she smiled apologetically—“stress.”

“It’s okay,” he said, standing up and smiling. “I’ll go tell Neal about your rib, and then we’ll see how quickly we can get you out of here.” He tossed her the remote. “Might be a while before I’m back,” he explained, and flashed her a grin. “I personally recommend the Lifetime channel—it’s a riot.”

Emma waved at him as he disappeared out of the room, and aimed the remote at the television, her hand idly resting on her aching side. She took Whale’s advice and flicked to the Lifetime channel: some discount-Sigourney Weaver was dealing with her teenage son’s drug addiction. Emma chuckled as the actress tried and failed to deliver a heart-wrenching speech, and settled back against her pillows to watch. 

Discount-Sigourney was weeping over her son’s unconscious form when the door opened, and Hook strolled in, whistling. Emma looked over at him, frowning as she watched him throw himself onto an empty bed, propping the pillows under his head as he switched on the television. He didn’t even seem to notice her there; just laid back, lazily flicking through channels.

“ _Ahem_ ,” she said, clearing her throat loudly. He looked over, startled, and blinked at Emma.

“Bloody hell, Emma, what are you doing here?” he asked concernedly, sitting up. She raised her eyebrows.

“I fell and fractured my rib. What are _you_ doing?”

His eyes flicked toward the television. “Watching the demon pictures,” he said, nodding toward it. 

“In the hospital?” 

“Yeah.”

“ _Why?_ ”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Mmm… the beds are comfy?” he suggested. 

Her eyes narrowed. “The beds are comfy. That’s what you’re going with?”

He sighed, hanging his head. “All right,” he said in a resigned voice, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to face her. “If you must know…I’m avoiding Ruby.”

“Avoiding Ruby?” she repeated, crinkling her brow. “But all last week, you were in love with her. I thought—“

“Well, last night, we patched things up pretty well, let’s leave it at that,” he said hastily, shifting his eyes around the room in a guilty sort of way. “But I’m feeling a little… Look, I don’t want to hang around in my room because I might bump into her, so I’m watching my pictures here, and that’s all you need to know,” he finished, rather snappishly, in Emma’s opinion.

She raised her eyebrows coolly. “Well, then.”

“Yes, well, then,” he said flatly.

“So you two are… back together, or what’s going on there?”

He shrugged.

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t really have an answer,” he said, poking holes into a pillow with his hook. “I thought I wanted to get back together, but now…? _Meh.”_

 _“_ Why?”

“’Cause.”

“’Cause what?”

He didn’t answer, just frowned down at his increasingly tattered pillow.

Emma opened her mouth in dawning comprehension. “Oh, I _see…_ ” 

“No, you don’t _see_ ,” he said irritably, looking up. “I honestly thought I was in love with her last week.”

“Yeah, but come on. You fall in love every five minutes. That Penelope Cruz commercial—“

“That woman is a goddess, don’t you _even!_ ” he said sharply. Emma’s eyebrows jumped.

“What happened to Jennifer Lopez? I thought _she_ was a goddess.”

“Oh, well, Jennifer Lopez…” A wide grin spread across his face. “We all know how I feel about Jennifer Lopez.”

“Yes, we all know how you feel about Jennifer Lopez,” Emma said, rolling her eyes.

“Alas, fair Ruby is _not_ Jennifer Lopez,” he sighed, tossing the pillow behind him. “But she’s  latched onto me like a barnacle again.” He leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. “S’pose I shouldn’t have told her I loved her…”

Emma closed her eyes in exasperation. “Of course you did.”

“And now I’m stuck with her again.” He blew out a breath slowly. “Bloody hell, what _have_ I gotten myself into?”

“A bad situation,” Emma answered matter-of-factly. She shifted her position, trying to tuck the pillow under her head more comfortably, and twisted the wrong way. She inhaled sharply at the pain, clutching her side. Hook sat up on his elbows, raising his eyebrows at her.

“You all right, love?”

“No, I’m not all right. I told you, I’ve got a fractured rib.” She winced. “Son of a bitch.”

He nodded once, thoughtfully, as if he were digesting the information. “You know,” he said slowly, getting up and walking over to her, “that sounds like a rather familiar injury…”

She frowned at him suspiciously as he got closer.

“I seem to remember a certain pirate with a few cracked ribs from a couple years ago,” he continued, smiling humorlessly as he stopped beside her bed, looking at her injured side. “And there was a little blonde sheriff who came in…”

“Hook,” she said warningly, sensing what he was going to do.

“They were talking… she didn’t like him much at the time…” He lifted his hand, slowly trailing it along her rib bones. “But he _very_ much liked her, so he made a few jokes…which she didn’t appreciate…” His hand stopped, pressing slightly harder. “And do you know what she did?”

“Hook, I swear to God, if you punch me in the ribs, you’re going to lose the other hand.”

“She slammed her bitchy little fist right into the poor man’s injury,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. He smiled down at her. “You’re very lucky he’s a lot nicer than she was.” 

She breathed a sigh of relief as he dropped his hand, and strolled back to his bed, humming softly. He kicked his shoes off, and leaned against the tattered pillow, pointing the remote at the television.

“What are you watching?” he frowned, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Lifetime movie. Channel twenty-nine,” she said, shifting her pillow carefully.

He flipped to the channel, and settled back, placing the remote on the night stand. “What’s this one about, then?”

“Her son’s on drugs, and she’s not happy about it, basically,” Emma said, raising her eyebrows as discount-Sigourney sobbed unconvincingly into a bland-looking man’s chest. 

“And who’s that?”

“I don’t know, her husband?”

“Poor bloke. She’s _really_ annoying.”

“Shitty actress,” Emma agreed, nodding. 

They continued with their lazy commentary as the movie went on, making remarks on the various states of discount-Sigourney’s hair, why the drugged-out kid resembled this piece of fruit more than this piece of fruit, and who exactly the bland-looking man was. Emma was building a rather convincing case that he was actually the brother rather than the husband when  the door opened for the second time and Neal came in, looking worried.

“Hey, how you doing?” he asked, kneeling down beside her bed. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah… just waiting…” She smiled at him. “What’s up?”

“Nothing’s up,” he said, though his eyes told a different story: they kept shifting around, shooting furtive looks at random things in the room. 

“Neal.” Her tone clearly said, _You’re not fooling anyone._ He met her eyes reluctantly, and shrugged, mumbling something. “What?” she asked, leaning forward to hear him better.

He exhaled in frustration. “I said, hospitals freak me out.”

She chuckled in appreciation, patting his hand. “Yeah, me, too.”

“Me, too,” Hook echoed.

Neal whirled around at the sound of his voice, and looked incredulously at Hook lounging on the hospital bed, working on Emma’s Jell-O. 

“Killy?”

“Oh, are we still on that?” Emma complained, tilting her head back. Neal apparently didn’t hear her.

“What happened to you, what are you doing here?”

“Eating Jell-O,” Hook said unhelpfully. Neal rolled his eyes, and looked to Emma for an explanation.

“He’s avoiding Ruby.”

“ _What?_ ” Neal’s head snapped back so fast, Emma swore she could hear something crack. “Already? I thought you were in love with her! I thought she—“he made a grand, sweeping gesture—“ _mutilated your heart_?”

Hook shrugged, taking another spoonful of Jell-O. Neal looked at Emma incredulously, his mouth slightly open.

_What the hell is wrong with him?_

She shrugged. _Who the hell knows?_

Discount-Sigourney suddenly let out an ear-piecing shriek; Neal let out a yelp, and swung around, looking for the source. His eyes fell on the television, watching as the druggie kid (who Emma and Hook had agreed reminded them of a grape, for some reason) started convulsing.

“What are you guys watching?” he frowned, still a little breathless. 

“Movie,” Hook said, his eyes still fixed on the screen. Neal rolled his eyes, exhaling in frustration.

“ _What_ movie?”

“Druggie kid makes the mom flip out,” Emma said absently. “Wait, I thought that guy was dead?”

“That was the _other_ guy,” Hook told her. “That’s the counselor.”

“No, that guy had glasses,” she frowned. “I’m sure of it. That’s the guy from the rehab center who died. What is he, like a hallucination now?”

“Emma, oh my God! That guy is _clearly_ the counselor!” Hook said, gesturing at the mystery man. “You just haven’t been paying attention because you and Neal have been gabbing like a couple of old ladies at Bingo night.”

“Is the kid dead or what?” Neal asked, squinting at the now-sobbing discount-Sigourney. “Because if he is, I’m betting that dude _is_ from the rehab center and he’s taking the kid to Heaven or something…”

“What do you know? You just got here!” Hook snapped. “Emma and I have been watching this for the better part of an hour already, and you have the audacity—“

He broke off as the kid rose from his hospital bed, looking more transparent than usual, and took the man’s hand. Together, they walked through a bunch of clouds with a light shining their path—Heaven, Emma presumed. 

“Well, then,” Neal said smugly. Hook folded his arms, glaring at the screen.

“What a stupid ending,” he muttered. 

“Yep,” Neal agreed cheerfully, standing up. He looked down at Emma. “By the way, Whale told me to tell you he’ll get you squared away before the day’s out, but he just had a kid come in who needs, like, a million stitches, so he doesn’t know when.”

Emma groaned, her head falling further back onto the pillows. “This sucks,” she complained.

“It’s not even that bad,” Neal said comfortingly. “At least nothing’s seriously broken.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to be stuck in the hospital all day,” she sighed. “We were going to play foosball later.”

“And do paperwork and stuff, of course,” Hook said immediately, even though they all knew perfectly well that wasn’t true. That was one of the reasons why Emma loved working with them: not only were they her best friends, but they were her best friends who _didn’t_ make her actually do any work at the sheriff’s station. Sure, they would all pile into the car when they got a call for something exciting, but other than that, they just hung out and goofed around all day. 

Of course, when David wasn’t working at the shelter and dropped by the station to help out, they had to put on the charade of _actually_ working, but even that was fun: it had become a competition, to see who could most convincingly pretend to be doing something productive. Hook and Emma were tied for first, as Neal often lost interest in the game halfway through; but it was rather amusing to see him pretend to get frustrated with the amount of paperwork he wasn’t actually doing.

“We could hang out here,” Neal offered. “Everyone take a day off.”

“Yeah, I could use a holiday,” Hook yawned, stretching his arms. “We should take naps and eat Jell-O.” He looked at Neal, smiling lazily. “Want to get me some Jell-O?”

“Nope,” Neal smiled back.

“Will you get _me_ some Jell-O?” Emma asked sweetly.

“Oh, Emma…” Neal laughed, kneeling down to put his arm around her. “No.”

“Oi,” Hook said, looking over at them with a frown. “How come I have to be by myself? Neal, get over here.”

“I’m not hugging _you,”_ Neal told him. “If you’re so lonely, call your girlfriend.”

“Oh, Penelope’s working today,” Hook said, nodding at the television as the Revlon commercial came on. 

“I was talking about Ruby.”

Hook’s smile faded some. “Oh, right.”

They waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t say anything; just watched Penelope Cruz twirl around with a little smile on his face. 

“All right, look, man,” Neal said, shifting slightly so he could look at him properly. “I know you think you can’t stand her again, but you remember where you were last week, after you two broke up?”

“Mmm…” Hook screwed up his face with the effort of remembering. “ _Vaguely…_ ”

“Well, I remember it very clearly,” Neal said bluntly. “And you were a major pain in everyone’s ass.”

“I was heartbroken,” Hook said indignantly.

“I know. Do you really want to put us all through that again?”

Hook narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching. “Excuse me, but Penelope is on screen, and I need to pay attention to why Revlon is better than other leading brands.”

Emma and Neal exchanged a look as he turned back to the television, determinedly ignoring them. When the commercial had finished and Penelope finally swept off screen, he swung himself off the bed and announced, “I’m going to go hit on some nurses. Neal, you want to come with?”

“Not even a little bit.”

Hook shrugged. “Suit yourself. Feel better, Emma.”

“Bye,” Emma said as he left the room, mussing his hair purposefully. She shook her head sadly. “He’s such a slut.”

“Yeah,” Neal sighed. “He and Ruby are so perfect together.”

Something about the way he said that struck her as odd. Why was he suddenly interested in Hook’s relationships? She frowned up at Neal, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. “Is something up?”

“What? No,” he said, laughing unconvincingly. 

“Uh-huh.”

“Em…” He glanced at her deadpan look, and sighed, flopping his hand in defeat. “All right, fine. I’ve got a bet going with Regina. Robin already lost, he said they wouldn’t get back together, so now it’s just me and her.”

“What’s the bet?” Emma asked, intrigued.

“She thinks they’ll be broken up again by the end of the day; I gave it a little more time.” Neal tapped his fingers, frowning thoughtfully. “I just hope he waits until after nine o-clock to break up with her. That’s the cut-off time.”

Emma nodded slowly, tracing her fingers along the armrest. “Can anyone join in this bet?” she asked quietly.

Neal looked round at her in surprise. “Well… not this one, but you can get in on the next one,” he offered.

Emma grinned. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Neal nodded, grinning back. “Great, I’ll text Regina, let her know you’re in the circle.” He pulled out his phone and started scrolling for Regina’s number. “You know, if we could get your parents in on this, we could get a nice little pool going.”

“Ooh, that sounds interesting,” Emma said eagerly, sitting up. “Ask your dad and Belle if they want in on this Hook-and-Ruby-thing.”

Neal nodded, punching keys. “Someone could make a good buck off those two sluts,” he remarked. “This is going to be fun.”

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

 

“So I don’t know what to do,” Mulan said helplessly, leaning her forehead against her hand. “I mean, she’s married with a kid, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Snow smiled sympathetically, reaching across the table to pat her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said gently. “But maybe you should tell her how you feel.”

“Dude, _no!_ ” Mulan said, staring at her incredulously. “Are you _crazy?”_

“Mulan—“

“Look, I don’t want to confuse her, all right? But…” Mulan looked around, checking to make sure no one was listening, and leaned in, speaking in a low voice. “I mean, come on… she was into me, right?”

“It _did_ seem that way,” Snow mused, nodding slowly. 

Mulan nodded, flourishing her hands. “Thank you!”

“I honestly thought we were going to find you two making out in the middle of the night,” Snow said, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Well, there’s not a whole lot else to do back in the Enchanted Forest,” Mulan shrugged. “But she was _definitely_ sending me signals.”

“She wore those ‘come hither’ eyes around you,” Snow agreed.

Mulan scoffed, folding her arms and leaning back in her seat. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s useless to keep pining after her.” She glared at the floor. “Not like it’s ever going to amount to anything.”

“You don’t know that,” Snow said unconvincingly, though privately she thought that Aurora was making it extremely difficult, what with announcing her second child coming in seven months. 

“This sucks!” Mulan said suddenly, slamming her hand on the table. Snow gasped, jumping in her seat. Mulan huffed a, _“Sorry!”,_ and went back to glaring at the floor. 

“You know,” Snow said, still trying to catch her breath, “you could always let me set you up with someone.”

Mulan groaned, letting her head fall back. “Snow,” she said exasperatedly. “I told you, I don’t want—“

“Let’s see,” Snow said, taking out her phone and scrolling through the contacts. “What about… Ruby?”

Mulan frowned. “Which one’s Ruby?”

Snow jutted her head toward the counter. “The skinny waitress.”

Mulan’s eyes drifted to the counter, where Ruby was once again refilling sugar containers (who always used up all the damn sugar?), and she perked up. “Huh,” she said interestedly. “ _Ruby…_ ” She frowned slightly. “Hold on—I thought she was into guys?”

Snow shrugged, batting a hand. “I’m sure Ruby could be persuaded, either way.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t she have a boyfriend?” Mulan pressed. 

“Uh, she _did,_ but she don’t no more,” Snow said smugly, cackling to herself as she remembered how Ruby had slaughtered Hook with that epic break-up. 

She’d been telling Ruby for weeks how she couldn’t let Hook ignore her like that, and treat her like she was stupid; but Ruby had argued that he was super-hot. Snow had patiently explained there was more to love than having a super-hot partner… multiple times, as Ruby had a difficult time grasping the concept. In the end, Ruby had mustered her courage and dignity, and dumped him like a sack of potatoes, which made Snow prouder than she could say. That stupid man-whore got his ass handed to him—plus, David had made some really excellent pancakes that morning, so it was a good day all around.

“Snow, I’m telling you, I don’t want to deal with another Aurora,” Mulan said stubbornly. “Who else?”

“Oh, but you and Ruby would be _perfect_ together!” Snow argued, setting down her cup. “Come on, let me set you up!”

“She’s got a boyfriend!” Mulan said exasperatedly.

“She _had_ a boyfriend, he’s history now!” Snow scoffed, waving her hands dismissively. 

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really!”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure! They broke up in my apartment, I watched it happen!”

“Then who was that guy she was making out with last night?”

Snow’s smile froze on her face. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, then who was that guy—“

“Yes, yes, I heard you!” Snow said through clenched teeth, breathing hard. _Oh, Ruby_ , she thought woefully. _Oh,_ please _tell me it was Jason, please tell me it was Jason._ “I’ll be right back,” she told Mulan, getting up.

“Sure, you will,” Mulan grumbled, picking up her cup. “Go on, leave me. Like everybody else does!” she called after her in a loud voice. Snow shot her an amused look over her shoulder, which slid right over her face when she looked back at Ruby.

“Ruby,” she said in an authoritative tone, leaning against the counter. Ruby glanced up, still humming to herself. “Ruby, what happened last night?”

Ruby looked at her with wide eyes, her humming faltering. “Mmm….the Yankees beat the Mets?”

Snow squinted her eyes at her. “Ruby,” she said in a stern voice. “What _happened_ last night?”

“Uh….” Ruby’s eyes trailed around the room guiltily. Snow let out a little wail, hiding her face in her hands.

“Ruby,” she moaned in a muffled voice, “tell you didn’t take him back.”

“I…”

“ _Ruby!_ ” Snow wailed.

“But Snow, he’s really hot!” Ruby said pleadingly, taking her wrists.

“ _Ruby, why, why, why do you always give these losers—?_ “

 “Look, he told me that he possibly loves me! I _know_ ,” she said quickly as Snow dropped her hands, opening her mouth furiously. “I know about the Penelope Cruz commercial, but I also know…”

Snow blew her bangs up with a huffy breath, glaring at her. Ruby slowly withdrew her hands, quailing under her gaze.

“Okay, but he’s really _really_ hot,” she said desperately.

“Ruby!” Snow slammed her hand on the counter, making Leroy slop coffee over himself. “Oh, get over it!” she snapped when he shot her a dark look. “Ruby, do you remember _nothing_ from what we talked about?”

Ruby made a frustrated noise, holding her hands flat on either side of her head. “I’m not listening to another lecture, Snow.”

“He’s a jerk, Ruby!” Snow said, following her as she walked over to clean off a table. “He’s just using you!”

“Maybe I’m using him,” Ruby shrugged.

“Okay, see? That— _that—_ “ Snow pointed an emphatic finger at her—“that speaks volumes! You really think it’s a healthy relationship when both people are just using the other? ’Cause it’s _not!_ ”

Ruby huffed, piling the dishes onto her bus-tray. 

“You need someone who is willing to put themselves aside for you. You need someone who values you as a person, who wants you to be the best version of yourself.” Snow picked up her walking pace as Ruby strode toward the kitchen to drop off the plates. “You need someone—hey, Tony—who wants to be around you, simply because you’re you—“

“No, Snow!” Ruby said, dropping the plates into the tub of water and sending a splash over poor Tony. She whirled around, glaring at Snow fiercely. “That’s what _you_ need. I don’t want that.”

Snow stared at her. “You don’t want that?”

“No,” Ruby said, folding her arms. “I don’t. Not everyone has to have a Prince Charming to be happy.”

Snow shook her head, struggling to understand. “Okay, but that doesn’t change the fact that he treats you bad. I mean…” She raised her eyebrows, looking at Ruby intently. “He’s a _jerk,_ Ruby.”

“I know,” she said nonchalantly. “But he’s not a bad person.”

“Yeah. He kind of is.” Snow smiled, scoffing slightly. “Ruby, he’s _killed_ people. You think pirates just bro out on the high seas all day? They steal, they cheat, they murder, they—“

“Do a lot of the things _you_ did when you were on the run from Regina,” Ruby finished. She raised her eyebrows, smiling smugly at Snow’s stunned face. “Well. _That’s_ interesting.” 

She brushed past Snow, leaving her to stand there, completely floored. A strangled noise scraped out of her throat as she opened her mouth in an otherwise silent snarl, her fists clenching and unclenching. She tried to let go of her anger, but _God, was she fucking angry, oh, that man-whore better not sleep with his eyes closed or walk in any dark alleys, because then she would fucking kill him and put his head on a spike._

“Okay, okay,” she muttered to herself. “Calm yourself, Snow, you’re fine… you’re fine. Ruby!” she called, darting out of the kitchen as she flung the doors open. 

Ruby was back at the counter, pouring Leroy another cup of coffee. “I’m working, Snow,” she said irritably. “We can do this later.”

“No, we can’t. Look, I know you think he’s….” Snow grimaced. “ _Cute.”_

Ruby looked at her incredulously. “ _Cute?_ ”

Snow shrugged, waving her her hands. “I’m sorry, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I _don’t_!” she insisted, when Ruby snorted derisively.

“Who are we talking about?” Leroy said gruffly. 

“None of your business,” Ruby said at the same time Snow said, “The mayor of Whorey-brooke.”

Ruby and Leroy turned to her with wide eyes, both looking slightly impressed.

“Did you just come up with that?” Ruby asked.

“Nah, I’ve had that one tucked in my back pocket for ages,” Snow said, feeling pleased nonetheless. 

Ruby shook her head as if to clear it. “Well, you shouldn’t call _my boyfriend_ names like that,” she said pointedly. 

Belle, who must have come into the diner while Ruby and Snow were arguing in the kitchen, glanced up from her stack of papers. “Wait, I thought you two broke up.”

“We got back together last night,” Ruby said flatly. Belle made a noise of disgust, recoiling.

“Eww, _why?_ ”

“Because he can’t afford a prostitute, and Ruby’s cheap,” Snow said coldly. 

Belle’s mouth fell open, and everyone in the diner froze. It was dead silent as Ruby slowly turned on her heel, trembling with fury and disbelief. Snow folded her arms, tilting her chin up challengingly. 

“Oh…. _snap_ ,” Belle breathed, giving a feeble snap of her fingers. It echoed through the diner, the only sound to ring through the silence.

“Well,” Ruby said, her voice sounding more high-pitched and shaky than usual. “I think I’m going to go on my break now.” 

She untied her apron, letting it drop to the floor as she walked to the door and walked out, not even bothering to grab her coat. The bell tinkled, oddly merry against the extremely tense diner. Snow watched her go, breathing in deeply. She was not going to feel bad about this, she was _not_ going to feel bad about this. Ruby wouldn’t listen to her when she was nice and understanding; maybe some harsh words would get through to her.

That’s at least what she told herself as she numbly sat down next to Belle, who was still staring at her in amazement.

“I got to tell you, I _never_ saw that coming out of you,” Belle said in awe as the diners slowly returned to their murmured conversations (although, everyone was probably discussing Snow and Ruby at this point). “I mean, that was… that was like a religious experience.” She clapped slowly, still shaking her head in wonder. “I mean, _wow._ ”

“Not now, Belle,” Snow said in a low voice.

“That was fucking _brilliant_ ,” Belle went on, as if Snow hadn’t said a word. “I never thought in a million years _Snow fucking White_ could come out with something like that—“

“Belle!” Snow flared. Belle dropped her hands and went back to her papers. Snow glowered at them.

“What are those?” she asked roughly.

“Last minute plans,” Belle said absently, scratching a signature onto a paper. “Everything’s almost all set for my reception. I just have to finish signing these last catering orders, and then Granny says I’m all set.”

“What are you having?” Snow asked, just trying to keep her mind off the fight with Ruby.

“Chicken,” Belle said, sounding weirdly satisfied about it. “And some other stuff, of course, but it’s going to be _really_ lovely. I’ve got some of the girls from Henry’s school to help me make the centerpieces…”

Belle went on about her reception while Snow’s mind wandered. Had she taken it too far? It had seemed a tad harsh, and no amount of the “tough love” defense she’d come up with could abate her guilt. 

But Ruby was just so… Snow sighed. Ruby had never experienced what Snow had with David; or maybe she had, with Peter, but everyone knew how that turned out. Maybe that was why Ruby kept forming meaningless relationships: the last person she cared about like that was dead, and it was her fault. So if she didn’t let herself get close to anyone, she wouldn’t feel that pain again.

“Yeah, or maybe she’s just a shallow twig bitch,” Belle shrugged, scribbling on another paper. Snow blinked in confusion.

“Wait, was I talking out loud?”

“Yep.” Belle frowned as she shuffled a few papers around. “Interrupted me just as I was describing my dress, thanks very much,” she added grumpily.

“But… oh, God, Belle, why did I say what I said?” Snow said, a horrified feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. “Why did I _say_ that?”

“Probably ’cause you’re a bitch,” Belle said absently, poring over a guest list. Snow’s eyebrows rose, and she turned her head to look at her. Belle glanced over, then went back to her paper. “Well, you _are.”_

“Says the woman who bashes Ruby every chance she gets,” Snow said, stung.

“I’ve got my reasons, believe me,” Belle said darkly, swiping her papers into a stack. Snow’s eyes widened at her sudden malice.

“What reasons?”

“Never you mind,” Belle muttered, and swept away, leaving Snow to wallow away in guilt and questions.

   

* * *

 

 

Ruby wrapped her arms around herself, walking stiffly along the sidewalk. A tear dripped down her cheek; she tried to scrub it away, but then another one followed; and another, and another one, until there were too many and she gave up.

It was freezing; after all, it was November in Maine. She hadn’t thought of it at the time, but she desperately wished she’d thought to bring her coat. Between the tears and the shivering, she probably looked a mess right now. And for the first time in her life, Ruby Lucas didn’t give a damn how she looked. She stopped suddenly, bringing her hands to her eyes without caring that they were going to turn black from all her mascara, and let herself cry.

“Ruby?”

She looked up, her hands falling away from her eyes: Hook was watching her uncertainly, kind of leaning as though he had been preparing to make a run for it, but thought better of it. She immediately wiped her tears, and broke into a fake smile.

“Hi,” she said, her voice noticeably less chipper, even she could tell. “What’s up?”

“I was just coming to see you,” he said, walking toward her cautiously. 

Ruby nodded silently, not trusting herself to talk, because she knew her voice would come out sounding wobbly.

“Why, uh… why aren’t you at the diner?” he asked, stopping in front of her.

“On my break,” she muttered, trying to will a tear to retreat back into her eye. It didn’t work, so she kept her head down, pretending to examine the sidewalk. “Think I’ll just sit here,” she said, going for light and airy, but sounding closer to pathetic. Nonetheless, she folded her legs and sat on the sidewalk, staring at the other storefronts across Main Street. She kept her arms wrapped around her for warmth, rubbing them to take away as much numbness as she could.

Hook stared at her for a moment, frowning as if he were mentally wrestling with something. Ruby instinctively shrunk back when he started muttering to himself, walking around in a small circle as he made wild little gestures: wow—he was _literally_ arguing with himself.

She watched as he stopped suddenly, glaring up at the sky, and hastily shrugged off his jacket. Quickly, he walked over to her, holding it out.

“Here.”

She raised an eyebrow. He looked back at her impatiently.

“Ruby, take the damn jacket, I’m freezing just looking at you.”

She hesitantly reached out and took it, stuffing her arms in the sleeves as he sat down beside her.

“So,” he said, rubbing his good hand over his left arm in an effort to keep warm. 

“So.”

There was a silence. Ruby side-eyed him warily, still a little freaked that he’d offered her his jacket. That was just plain _weird._ Hook never did stuff like that. Granted, she’d never done stuff like run out in the middle of November in nothing but her skimpy uniform, but whatever. 

“So, how you been?” he tried again.

“Fine,” she said, though the whimper behind her voice completely negated that. He looked round at her, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“You’ve been crying,” he said finally. “Typically that implies something is decidedly _not_ fine.”

She didn’t answer. He let out an exaggerated breath, and continued talking.

“See, most people cry when something has upset them. And since you’ve insisted that we sit out here, in this ridiculously cold weather, you may as well talk. At least it’ll keep us awake—you freeze to death faster if you fall asleep,” he added grumpily, rubbing his arm more vigorously.

“It’s nothing important,” Ruby said in a low voice. “Just… girl stuff.”

“How illuminating,” Hook said dryly. 

A flash of anger hit her, and she stomped her feet hard enough to make them sting. “Snow basically called me a complete slut in front of everyone in the diner because I decided to give _you_ another shot! Illuminating enough for you?” she snapped, glaring at him.

If he was taken aback by her outburst, he didn’t show it; he simply looked at her and said, “Oh.”

“Oh?” she repeated derisively. 

“Mmm-hmm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “That’s the beauty of the word ‘oh’. It doesn’t mean anything.”

She stared at him as he looked across the street, humming something under his breath. He didn’t seem to notice as she gave a snort of disgust, tossing her head.

“This is your fault,” she told him.

“Most things are,” he said pleasantly. 

She scoffed, shaking her head slightly. For all his looks and charms, Hook was quite possibly the most annoying person she’d ever met. Other than Leroy, of course. 

“So why were you coming to see me?” she asked acidly. “Craving a grilled cheese for Emma? Or lunch with Belle?”

“Oh, Emma’s in the hospital right now,” he said, batting a hand. 

“Why’s she in the hospital?” Ruby couldn’t help feeling spitefully glad, imagining Emma lying broken on a hospital bed.

“Cracked a rib or something,” he shrugged. “Neal’s with her.”

“Oh.”

Another silence fell between them. It was awkward, to say the least. If Ruby was going to be perfectly honest, they really didn’t talk much. Sure, a few flirty words here and there in the diner, but when they were alone, there wasn’t a lot of conversation. 

“Thing is, Ruby,” he said after a long pause, “if you’re with me, people are going to assume it’s because…”

“I know,” she said.

“See, I’m probably the biggest slut in town,” he said bluntly. “And that makes you a slut by association, because everyone assumes the only thing I’m interested in is—“

“Yes, I _got_ it, thanks,” she said loudly, feeling rather irritated with him now. Did he honestly think he was helping like this, or did he strive to be obnoxious? “You know, it’s a good thing you’re pretty, ’cause you’re kind of a dumb-ass.”

He shrugged, his teeth chattering. “I get that a lot.”

Ruby turned her head to look at him. “So do I.”

“It’s so rude,” he said shamefully, shaking his head.

“You’ve got room to talk,” she muttered. Like Hook had any right to complain about rudeness. There was a reason—well, several, actually—why she’d broken up with him last week. She was still angry with him about all that. She hadn’t planned on getting back together with him; frankly, she was still surprised he asked at all. But he had really shocked her last night, standing up in front of the whole diner, professing his love for her. It was weird and embarrassing and really freaked her out, but at the same time… it was the kind of thing he’d have done for Emma. 

Hook blew out a breath slowly, making little clouds in the air. “I’m…sorry,” he said hesitantly. “I know I’m a jerk, but I’m…” He broke off, shuddering. “ _Fuck,_ it’s cold!”

“Dude, I know,” she said, shivering violently. “I’m turning blue. And my name’s _Red._ ”

“Eww, Ruby, don’t make puns,” he groaned. 

“It’s funny.”

“No. It’s not.”

“You make dumb jokes all the time!” she flared. 

“Well, _you_ seemed to think they were funny! You laughed at every single one of them! _Loudly,_ I might add.”

“I didn’t laugh because I thought they were funny! I laughed because I thought you were hot!”

“Well, I’m not hot now, I’m freezing my ass off,” he said irritably. “Can we _please_ go inside somewhere?”

“ _You_ go! No one’s holding a gun to your head! Just leave!” She folded her arms tightly, glaring across the street. “And you just made a pun, too, you _asshat,_ so don’t bitch at me about dumb jokes!”  

She waited for him to stand up, and ask for his jacket back in that petulant voice he used when he was offended, but he didn’t. Ruby flicked her eyes to the side, still glaring: he hadn’t moved, he was just sitting there, muttering darkly under his breath. “ _Leave,_ Hook.”

“I _can’t_ leave!” he snapped. “I’m your… boyfriend-thing, or whatever.”

Ruby stared at him for a long time, her eyes still narrowed witheringly: Hook sat there, still muttering under his breath, rubbing his hand up and down his left arm. “You’re an asshat,” she said venomously. 

“I’ve been told,” he through gritted teeth.

“I don’t even like you that much.”

“Big surprise.”

“And I’m probably going to break up with you again before the week’s out, but right now, I need a hug.”

“I’ll hug you if we can go someplace warmer.”

“Just give me a hug, asshat.”

“Ruby, this is so stupid, why do we have to stay out here?”

“Would you fucking hug me? Jesus _Christ,_ Hook—“

“All _right_ ,” he huffed, putting his arm around her. “God forbid we should go someplace warmer, so they don’t find us frozen like the Little Match Girl tomorrow morning—“

“Shut. Up.”

There was another long pause, during which they both braced themselves against the bitterly cold wind gusting through the air, stinging their faces with its icy touch.

“You’re a shitty hugger.”

“It’s fucking _cold,_ Ruby.”

“I know it’s cold, asshat!”

“Then can we _please_ go inside?”

“Fine!” she said, throwing her hands up. “Fine! We’ll go inside! But _not_ the diner!”

“All right, whatever! Not the diner!” 

He helped her up, looking dubiously at her shorts as she stood. “Why the bloody hell would you wear shorts in this weather?”

“Probably for the same reason all your shirts have plunging necklines,” she said dryly.

“Fair enough,” he shrugged. 

They walked down Main Street, not quite touching, but close enough to keep bumping each other. Ruby stuffed her hands in the pockets of his jacket, hunching her shoulders against the wind.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, go for it,” Hook said, his voice trembling as he shuddered against the freezing wind.

“What’s so great about Emma?” Ruby glared at the ground beneath her feet. “It seems like every guy in town is half in love with her. Why is that?”

He was silent for a moment. “Well, I can’t speak for every guy in town, but I love Emma because she’s one of my best friends,” he said finally. “Same way I love Neal, or Belle. Except I also wouldn’t mind making out with her.”

Ruby crinkled her brow. “Okay…” she said slowly, trying to figure out whether or not that was offensive. 

He seemed to realize what he’d said sounded vaguely rude because he quickly added, “Emma’s a bro, okay? Probably the hottest bro I’ve ever had, mind. But that’s it.” He glanced at her sideways before dropping his eyes to the ground again. “That’s probably all it’s ever going to be.”

“Probably,” she said, smiling bitterly. Ruby didn’t really want to hear him go on about Emma anymore, but she was at least satisfied that he’d been moping after her for nothing.

“But I’m kind of fine with that,” he went on, as if she hadn’t said anything. “It’s… I don’t know, it’s weird. Forget it.”

“If you’re fishing for sympathy—“

“All right, I’ll tell you,” he said, sighing dramatically. “It’s like, I had a habit for loving Emma. I fell pretty hard when I first met her, and I just… I don’t know, I got used to it. The whole time we’ve been friends, I’ve always just assumed I was in love with her. But then, you and me started going out… had a _miserable_ time—“

“Wow. Thanks.”

“Ruby, please, I’m monologuing,” he said impatiently. She mockingly waved an apology at him, and he continued. “Had a miserable time. You were shrieky, I was—“

“An asshat.”

Hook closed his eyes, clenching his teeth. “An asshat,” he agreed, his voice tense. “And then you broke up with me—pretty epically, I have to say, never got to congratulate you on that—and I thought I’d feel relieved… but I didn’t.” He frowned down at the ground. “I…” he mumbled something unintelligible. Ruby craned her neck to hear.

“What?”

“I….” He mumbled again, only a hair louder.

“How illuminating,” she mimicked him. He shot her an annoyed look.

“Don’t make fun of my accent. It’s charming.”

“Is it? I wouldn’t know, because I can’t hear _anything you’re saying!”_

“I said, I _missed_ you! Jesus!”

“Sure,” she snorted, rolling her eyes.

“Ruby, I am trying so hard to be sensitive and caring right now, and you’re just—“

“Not being stupid enough to fall for it?” she supplied. Hook’s eyebrows shot up.

“ _Well_ ,” he huffed. 

“You’re such a diva.”

He sputtered, putting his hand to his heart in an injured way. “A _diva?_ ” he repeated indignantly. “Ruby, I just got through telling you—“

“What you tell me is meaningless. Last night you told me you loved me, we both know that was a crock of shit,” she said, talking over him. “You declare love, like, fifty times a day. It’s starting to lose its punch, like everything else you say.”

“I’m an emotional guy,” he argued. “When I say something, I _mean_ it, in that moment I say it. I just happen to have very fleeting emotions.” He shrugged. “It’s kind of like that thing kids have, when they can’t focus on stuff.”

“Emotional ADD? That’s what you’re trying to sell me?” she said, looking at him in disbelief. “Because if you think that’s going to work—“

“No, I don’t think it’s going to work, I’m just trying to explain to you why I’m such a pain in the ass,” he snapped. “It’s very difficult for me, I’m not used to talking myself down.”

“And I’m supposed to be flattered that you’re making the effort to do it for me?” Ruby said, smiling sardonically. “Oh, be still my heart.”

“You are im _possible_ ,” Hook declared, looking up at the sky. “God! I don’t know _what_ I was thinking when I took you back!”

“ _I_ took _you_ back, asshat!” 

“Oh, _whatever.”_

“And now I’m going to _un-_ take-you-back! We’re done— _again!_ ” She stormed past him, walking faster. Hook let out an exaggerated groan, jogging to catch up to her.

“Fine, we’re done—again,” he said, falling into step beside her. “But just so you know, I’m probably going to ask you to take me back before the week’s out.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “I know.”

“And then you’re probably going to take me back.”

“I _know._ ”

“And then you’re going to break up with me again.”

“I _KNOW._ ”

The conversation seemed to end there, with both of them huffing and muttering under their breath about how infuriating the other was, just as before. Except this time, Hook put his arm around her without being told. Ruby didn’t shrug it off, or call him an asshat.

They went four whole minutes without fighting.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Neal knocked on the front door, irritably tugging at his tie. “Dad?” he called. “It’s me!”

He could hear footsteps on the other side of the door, Belle’s voice vaguely shouting something, and then the sound of the door unlocking. The door swung open, revealing his tuxedoed father, holding a tie in his hands. 

“Neal!” he beamed, wrapping him in a hug. “You look great, how are you?”

“Fine, fine,” Neal said, following Rumple into the house. “I just came to pick up the parking passes, and then I’m going to drop by Emma’s.”

“Hi, Neal!” Belle’s voice called from upstairs.

“Hey!” he called back, putting his hands in his pockets as Rumple shuffled through a stack of papers. 

“Parking passes… parking passes… hang on, let me check in the kitchen. Come on, follow me.” He beckoned Neal after him, sidestepping random cardboard boxes and stacks of paper. Neal looked around curiously, noting the streamers and banners pinned to the wall.

“Remind again why you guys are having your reception here?” he asked, following Rumple into the kitchen. “This place is a mess.”

“Belle hired some kids to set it up while the ceremony’s going on,” Rumple explained, looking through another stack of papers. 

Neal checked his watch. “You guys are cutting it close, it’s already ten after nine.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rumple said, waving a dismissive hand. “Ah! Here we go! Parking passes.” He held out a small bundle of papers to him, smiling triumphantly.

“Thanks.” Neal folded them into his inside pocket after counting to make sure there was enough. The church had limited parking, and nobody wanted to be forced to walk there in the cold November air. “So… is Hook riding with you guys, or do I need to pick him up on my way back?”

Rumple rolled his eyes at Hook’s name, but with two years of sessions with Dr. Hopper under his belt, he managed not to say anything derogatory. “Belle!” he called, his voice echoing through the house. 

“What?”

“Is Hook riding with us, or Neal?”

“ _What?”_

 _“_ I said, is Hook riding with us, or with Neal?”

“Us!”

“Damn it,” Rumple muttered. He looked at Neal, raising his eyebrows hopefully. “Think you could drop him off?”

“Nah, he can walk,” Neal shrugged, pulling out his phone to text Hook. 

_Wake up, Killy._

He waited a minute, and then—

_I hate you._

Neal smiled, punching the tiny keys with his thumbs. _You’re going to look so adorable in your little suit._

Another minute passed before Hook texted back: _See previous text._

He chuckled to himself, sliding his phone back in his pocket. “All right, I’ll see you at the church,” he said, clapping his hand on his dad’s shoulder. 

“You don’t even want to stay for a cup of coffee?” Rumple asked, following him out of the kitchen. “I’ll make a pot, it’ll only take a few minutes.”

“I had some at the diner already, it’s fine,” Neal lied: Rumple made notoriously weak coffee, and Neal wasn’t too proud to admit that he wouldn’t be able to stay awake during the ceremony only working on his dad’s pathetic excuse for coffee. David always made a good strong pot, a few mugs of that would be able to keep his eyes open. 

“Oh, wait! Neal, before you go—“ Rumple darted back into the kitchen, and started rifling through papers. Neal groaned, sinking onto the couch. 

“Dad, hurry up!”

“Yeah, just a sec!“ Rumple called back, still frantically rummaging. “Here we are!” he announced, hurrying back into the room with a few index cards in his hand. Neal looked at them, squinting his eyes in suspicion.

“What are those?”

“I need you to look over my wedding vows. Please, Neal?” Rumple pleaded as Neal made a noise of exasperation. “I’m going to be talking in front of a lot of people, I don’t want to look like an idiot.”

Neal rubbed his eyes and slowly let his hand slide down his face, sighing. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “Let’s have a look.”

Rumple smiled appreciatively and hurried over, handing him the cards. Neal blinked blearily a few times before his eyes could focus on Rumple’s tiny handwriting. He skimmed the vows, frowning at various phrases: _“ocean of love”… “you make my heart beat really fast”…”it’s a love story, baby just say yes”—_

“Dad, you can’t actually say any of these things out loud. You know that, right?” Neal looked up at him, raising his eyebrows. Rumple looked hurt.

“What’s wrong with them?”

“Well, for starters, they sound completely stupid,” Neal said bluntly. “They’re really bad lines, really cheesy—“

“I was going for romantic.”

“—it sounds like a thirteen-year-old girl wrote it—“

“So I Googled some things, so what?”

“—I mean, look at this last line! You stole that from a Taylor Swift song!” Neal exclaimed, looking at his father with a mixture of disbelief and pity. “What is this?”

Rumple scratched the side of his nose. “Okay, I’ll rewrite them.”

“Please do,” Neal said, handing them back. He stood up, still shaking his head. “Okay, now I really have to go.”

“All right,” Rumple said, walking him to the door. “You’ll look over them before the ceremony?”

Neal looked at him intently. “I forbid you to read anything I haven’t approved first.” He opened the door, sucking in a breath as the wind gusted over him. “Shit, it’s cold,” he shivered, turning his coat collar up. 

“Bundle up,” Rumple advised unnecessarily. Neal managed to keep from rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, all right. See you guys later. Bye, Belle!”

“What?”

“I said, bye, Belle!”

“Bye, Neal!”

 

* * *

 

“Emma, you up?”

Emma’s eyes flew open, and she shot out of bed, casting an anxious glance at the clock: nine-fifteen. 

 _“Shit!_ ” she swore, running her fingers through her tangled hair. David pounded on the door again.

“Emma?” he called, his voice muffled. “Neal texted me, he’s on his way over.”

“Yeah, okay!” she called back, ducking her head under the bed, looking for the heels she was supposed to wear that day. _Damn it._ She pushed herself up, nearly tripping on her way to closet. “Can you make sure Henry’s up?” she said, dumping out the crate of shoes she had shoved in the corner.

“He’s at Regina’s, remember?”

 _Oh, right._ Emma breathed a sigh of relief: he’d definitely be ready, then. One less thing to worry about: it was difficult enough getting _herself_ ready, let alone a disgruntled teenage boy. 

“Are you almost ready?” Snow called through the door.

“Uh… sure…?”

“Emma,” Snow said exasperatedly.

“Okay, the longer you talk, the longer it’s going to take me!” Emma said irritably, yanking her dress off the hanger. She shot a few more furtive glances around her room, looking for the damn heels, before throwing her dress on the bed and grabbing her shower stuff. 

The morning was already off to a shitty start, and it just got shittier: it took forever for the water to get warm; then she used David’s shampoo instead of her own, so now she smelled like “Treseme for Men”; then her toothbrush fell on the floor, so she had to hunt down a new one; and to top things off, she forgot to take her necklace off before blowdrying her hair, and it seared a thin red line around her neck.

Perfect.

She stomped out of the bathroom, hearing the sounds of voices murmuring and cups clattering below before slamming her door shut. She pulled on the green dress she’d dug out of her closet, poking her head out only to realize it was on backwards. “God— _damn it!_ ” she cursed through gritted teeth, righting it. 

She rummaged through her drawer, untangling the wire for her curler from her headphones (all the while muttering things she would have grounded Henry for saying). She shoved it into the socket, and resumed the search for her shoes as she waited for it to heat up. 

Of _all_ places, she found them sitting on the outside window sill. _How does that even happen?_ she thought, shaking her head incredulously as she grabbed them. 

By the time she got her hair curled and her make-up done, Emma had managed to calm her temper enough that she no longer felt the need to stab someone repeatedly. After a quick once-over in the mirror on her door, she gave herself a satisfactory nod and went downstairs.

Her parents were already dressed, both looking very nice in their formal clothes: David’s tie matched Snow’s red dress in an annoyingly perfect way. Emma shrugged a “thanks” at their approving smiles, and turned toward Neal, clearing her throat to ask for an opinion—

“Oh, my God,” she said, staring at him with wide eyes. “Dude, you look _hot._ ”

“Thanks,” Neal said, leaning across the counter to take another handful of Cheerios. He glanced over at her, and nodded. “Nice dress.”

Emma dropped onto the stool, still staring at him. Neal seemed to sense her staring at him, but he kept his eyes fixed on the Cheerio box, reading the trivia facts. He munched on a few Cheerios, and slowly moved his eyes to the side to see her gawking at him. He looked back awkwardly for a minute, then slowly moved his eyes back to the box. David silently set a cup of coffee in front of Emma, prodding her to drink with a touch to the shoulder. Only then did she shake herself out of her stupor.

“So,” she said, taking a sip of coffee. “You guys bringing anything to the reception?”

“David made baklava,” Snow proudly, nudging him with her elbow. David shrugged, smiling shyly as he fixed himself a second cup of coffee.

“Aw, dude, you should have made pancakes,” Neal grinned, leaning his elbows on the counter. 

“You can’t bring pancakes to a vow renewal,” Emma scoffed. Neal turned his head, raising his eyebrows at her.

“Says who?”

“You just can’t,” she said. 

“Why?”

Emma frowned at him. “Because you _can’t,_ ” she said deliberately. Neal shrugged, going back to his Cheerios.

“Emma,” David said, frowning down at his phone. “I just got a text from Regina. She said Henry’s not there.”

“What?” Emma and Neal’s head snapped up at the same time.

“Hang on, I’m going to call him,” David said, still frowning. He put the phone to his ear, Emma keeping her eyes fixed on him, hardly breathing. Rationally, she knew that Henry was probably fine, hanging out at the diner or with some of his school friends as he had taken to doing lately… but that did nothing for the feeling of panic swelling in her chest. 

“Henry?” David said suddenly, his frown deepening. “Where are you? You scared us.”

Emma sagged in relief, feeling her breath return to her as she heard Henry’s voice say something indistinguishable. She reached out for the phone, mouthing, _Let me talk to him._

“Okay, hang on, Emma wants to talk,” David said, and handed her the phone, adding in a loud whisper, “He’s with Dr. Whale.”

“Dr. Whale?” Neal repeated dubiously as Snow texted Regina back with her phone. “ _Why?_ ”

“Henry?” Emma said, putting her hand over her other ear and walking out of the kitchen. “What’s going on? Why are you with Dr. Whale?”

“I just forgot about some service hour papers I needed him to sign, they were supposed to be submitted by noon today,” Henry explained. Emma narrowed her eyes: Henry was a good liar, but a liar nonetheless.

She decided to leave that discussion for later, after the party, and said, “Okay. Just make sure you call Regina, she’s probably having a panic attack.”

“I _told_ her I’d be right back,” Henry said, sounding guilty. He sighed into the phone, the buzzing noise tickling Emma’s ear. “Yeah, I’ll call her.”

Emma hung up and walked back to the kitchen. “Okay, everything’s fine,” she said, retaking her seat. “He’s going to call Regina now.”

“That kid…” David sighed, shaking his head. 

“All right, everyone just… let’s just drop it for now,” Neal said, pushing himself off his elbows. “Important thing is, Henry’s fine.” He paused. “At least until Regina gets ahold of him.” Neal shuddered. “Oy, that’s going to get ugly. Okay—“ he clapped his hands together, and nodded his head toward the door—“come on, we should get going.”

David and Snow went to grab their coats, leaving Emma and Neal alone in the kitchen. She watched him wrap his scarf around his neck, patting down his pockets with the other hand to find his keys. 

“Emma, quit staring at me. You’re freaking me out,” he said, not looking up.

She shook herself. “Sorry,” she said, smiling sheepishly. “It’s just…”

He glanced up, pulling the keys out.  

“You clean up pretty good,” Emma shrugged, flopping her hand.

 Neal raised his eyebrows. “Thanks, bro.”

 _Bro._ Emma cringed inwardly, but forced a smile on her face. “Yeah, whatever,” she said, giving him a bro-punch. Neal frowned at her fist hitting his shoulder, but looked up with a tight smile.

“Okay, then,” he said, laughing awkwardly.

“Okay,” she said, copying his laugh. She knocked her fists together listlessly, wondering why the hell David and Snow were taking so long. _God,_ was this awkward. Neal became engrossed in his phone, texting one-handed while the other hand twirled the keys.

“You guys ready?” David asked, tossing Emma her coat.

“Yup,” Neal said, finishing his text and tucking his phone in his pocket. “Let’s go.”

Emma sandwiched herself in between her parents as they trailed out the door, not wanting to bump into Neal and make things even _more_ awkward. Snow gave her a strange look, but didn’t say anything. It was a little harder to manage going down the stairs, so she just walked a little behind everyone, watching Neal’s curly head bob as he jogged down the steps.

She grimaced. _Bro._

 

* * *

 

 

“So, what’s the verdict?” Whale asked as Henry hung up with Regina, sighing. 

“My computer is gone for two weeks,” he said, flopping onto the couch. Whale clicked his teeth sympathetically, wrapping a tie around his neck.

“Still…could’ve been worse, right?”

“Oh, trust me, it will be,” Henry said, looking at him seriously. “She’ll probably make me enter the monastery when she finds out about Sheriff Skinny-Jeans over there.”

They had all agreed that today at the reception would be the best time to reintroduce Graham to Storybrooke. The entire town would be gathered in one place, and since Belle was having an open bar, there’d be plenty of alcohol to help them come to terms with it. 

Graham had insisted on dressing for the occasion, so Henry and Whale had been forced to spend last Saturday trying to pick out a suit, with Graham giving them specific instructions from the car via bluetooth: he wanted something stylish, but not too dark; classy—no, not that one! That’s a funeral suit, Victor! A slimmer cut than that…slimmer…ah, perfect. But see if they have one just a _shade_ lighter. 

“What are we talking about?” Graham asked, coming into the family room. He checked his reflection in the hall mirror, fluffing one of his curls, before turning to the other two. “How do I look?”

Henry glanced up, and shrugged slightly. “Nice?”

Graham looked at him impatiently. “Nice? Is that it, that’s all you have for me?”

Henry shrugged again, typing on his phone. “I don’t know… really nice?”

“Victor, what do you think?” Graham asked, turning away from Henry with an exasperated sound. 

“Yeah… nice seems to cover it.”

“Oh, you two!” Graham snapped, turning on his heel. “Coffee?” he called from the kitchen. 

“Coffee!” Henry and Whale yelled back.

Henry played a few games of Candy Crush on his phone while Whale fumbled with his tie. Henry frowned in concentration, trying to strategize his last four moves so he could knock out three separate block of chocolate squares. If only he had a striped candy…

“Henry, does this thing look straight?” Whale said frustratedly, gesturing to his tie. Henry tore his eyes away from the screen.

“Hmm?”

“My tie, is it straight?”

“Uh….” Henry shook his head dubiously. “Sure?”

Whale rolled his eyes. “Thanks. That’s really helpful, Henry, thanks a lot.”

“Here we go,” Graham said, bringing in a tray with three cups of coffee on it. 

“Coffee…” Henry droned, smiling in appreciation as he leaned forward to grab one. He looked over the rim of his cup as Graham let out a chuckle.

“Victor, that tie is ridiculous.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Whale frowned. “Is it not straight?”

“Wear the dark red one, it’ll look _so_ much nicer.”

Henry raised his eyebrows as Whale shuffled back upstairs and Graham took his seat in the armchair, flipping open the paper. Slowly, he turned his eyes back to his phone, resuming his game.

So, were they boyfriends now, or what? What exactly went on after Henry went home for the day?

“How’s this?” Whale asked, reappearing in the family room. Henry and Graham looked up. “Better?”

“Better,” Graham nodded, setting his cup down and standing up. “C’mere, let me help you.”

Henry stared with wide eyes as Whale crossed the room, so Graham could knot his tie. He wrapped around his neck, shaking his head and chuckling as he tugged it under Whale’s collar—and _smoothed his jacket down?_ Henry choked on his coffee. 

“You all right, Henry?” Graham asked, dropping his hands.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he gasped, putting his cup down. Graham raised an eyebrow at him as he retook his seat, and returned to his newspaper. 

Henry stole a glance at Whale: he was frowning at the ceiling with his mouth slightly open, as if struggling to figure something out. 

Henry looked back at Graham: he was leisurely flipping through pages, his leg folded so that his ankle was resting on his knee. 

Back at Whale: staring at Graham with same frowning, open-mouthed expression. 

Back at Graham: humming as he skimmed a page.

Back at Whale: staring at Henry—staring at Henry?

 _What?_ Henry mouthed. 

 _Why do you keep staring at me?_ Whale mouthed back.

 _Hallway._ Henry pointed, and Whale followed him into the hallway, shooting one last glance at Graham over his shoulder. 

“What? What’s going on?” Whale said.

“Shh!” Henry said, putting a finger to his lips. He tiptoed to the doorway, peering around the corner at Graham: he hadn’t seemed to notice them leaving. Henry turned around, looking at Whale. Whale squinted his eyes, giving his head a little shake, as if to say, _What?_ Henry couldn’t help staring at him for a moment

“Okay, so what is going on with you two?” he whispered, gesturing toward Graham. “Are you guys, like…?”

Whale’s eyes grew wide as he realize what he was asking. “What? _No._ God, Henry, why do you have to make things weird?”

“ _I_ make things weird?” Henry said disbelievingly, pointing to himself. “You mean things weren’t weird enough when you two were gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes?”

“I wasn’t gazing into his eyes!” Whale snapped. “He was just fixing my tie, he’s anal about that stuff!”

Henry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Interesting choice of words…”

“Oh, my _God,_ Henry!” Whale said in disgust, turning on his heel and pacing up and down the hallway. “Great. You just ruined this for me. Are you happy?”

“Whoa, hey, dude, I’m not judging,” Henry said reassuringly, walking toward him. “I’m just asking.”

“ _We’re not gay._ ”

“Okay,” Henry said, shrugging. “Whatever you say.”

Whale eyed him beadily, his mouth a thin line. “I think it’s time for you to go home.”

Henry grinned at him. “Need some alone time?”

Whale closed his eyes, clenching his teeth. “Go _home_ , Henry.”

“All right, all right…” Henry said amusedly, and sauntered back into the family room to pick up his backpack. “See you, Graham.”

Graham looked up with a smile. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah. See you at the reception later.”

Graham lifted his cup to him, and nodded his head.

Henry strolled back into the hallway, smiling at a very irritable Whale. “ _Bye, Dr. Whale_ ,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“Get out, Henry.”

“I’m going, I’m going… give you two kids some privacy.”

Whale yanked the door open. “ _Out,_ Henry.”

“Okay.” Henry slowly stepped through the door, his left foot dragging behind him. Whale gritted his teeth, exhaling slowly.

Henry poked his head back in, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. “You going to ask him to be your prom date?”

The door slammed in his face.

 

* * *

 

 

Hook sat on the edge of his bed, watching Ruby—still in her bathrobe and curlers— rifle through his drawers, looking for a tie. She gave one last flutter of her hands, and turned to look at him with wide eyes.

“You don’t have a _single_ tie?” she said in disbelief, sitting back on her heels.

“Have you ever _seen_ me wear a tie?”

Ruby scoffed. “Well, I find it difficult to believe you don’t even have _one_ tie. I mean, what kind of guy doesn’t have at least one tie?”

“Ugh,” Hook groaned, falling back on the bed and covering his eyes with his arms. “It’s too early for this…”

Ruby got up and walked over to him. “Get up.”

“No.”

She poked his head with a sharp fingernail. “Get. _Up._ ”

“Uh, _no._ ”

She made an exasperated noise. “Hook, you’re the…” She shook her head at the ridiculousness of her next words. “You’re the mister-of-honor, you have to get up now.”

“I’m tired.”

Ruby took his wrists and unfolded his arms from around his face. “ _Get up._ ”

“Stop yelling at me,” he whined, trying to tug his arms back. Ruby only tightened her hold, surprisingly strong.

“Would Neal have a tie in his room?”

“I don’t know! It’s not like we have _sleepovers,_ Ruby.”

“Hook,” she said, sounding like an exasperated adult dealing with a particularly difficult child. “You can’t go to this thing without a tie.”

“Why not?” he said petulantly. “I put on the suit, why do I have to wear a tie?”

“Because!” she said, dropping his wrists. “Because you wear a tie with a formal suit to a formal event! That’s why! It’s a social protocol!”

“ _You’re_ a social protocol,” he said, tucking his arms under his head. Ruby squinted her eyes at him witheringly.

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“ _You_ don’t make sense.”

She scoffed. “You’re such a child.”

“ _You’re_ a child.”

“ _You’re_ a child!” she threw over her shoulder, hurrying out the door so she could have the last word. 

“Where are you going?” Hook called after her, still staring at the ceiling.

Her voice came back faintly, muffled through the wall that separated his room from Neal’s. “I’m looking for a tie!”

“I don’t _need_ a bloody tie!”

“Would you _shut up?_ God, you’re annoying!”

“ _You’re_ annoying!”

“Both of you, SHUT UP!” Granny’s voice shouted from down the hall. Hook curled his lip: he did _not_ care for that woman. 

She didn’t care for him, either. Every time he and Ruby broke up, she would walk around with this smug little smile on her face; smirked at him over his morning coffee; delivered his towels without folding them, just shoving a pile into his arms. 

It was even worse every time he and Ruby got back together: she would glare at him so venomously, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand upright; glowered at him when he whispered little jokes to Ruby, making her throw her head back and laugh in her squeaky way (over time, he actually started to think it was cute, rather than grating); made vague threats about poisoning his order. It was hell on earth.

“Ruby?” Granny rapped her cane against a door, still calling from the other side of the hall. “Ruby, make sure the boys don’t forget the glaze for the chicken!”

“I can’t right now!” she hollered back. 

“Ruby, they have to leave for Gold’s in ten minutes, I need you to make sure they have everything!”

“I’m dealing with a CRISIS here!”

“What crisis?”

Hook rolled his eyes, pulling the pillow over his face as Ruby and Granny continued to shout back and forth. Their voices were so _shrill._ High-pitched, screeching noises, the kind that burrowed into your brain and haunted it. In fact, he was fairly certain they’d had a starring role in his nightmares last night.

“Here, I found one,” Ruby’s voice said.

Hook lifted the pillow, glancing up: Ruby was walking toward him, a tie fluttering through her fingers. He made a noise of disgust, and covered his face with the pillow again.

“ _Hook._ ” She tugged the pillow away, and tossed it across the room. “Come on, sit up.”

“No.”

“Okay, we are _not_ doing this again!” she said fiercely. “Sit. _Up_.”

“Uh, _no._ ”

She narrowed her eyes at him dangerously. “Okay, I didn’t want to have to do this…” she said threateningly. “Killian Jones, _sit up and put on your tie._ ”

“Ruby!” he said indignantly, sitting up on his elbows. “How _dare_ you call me that, I thought we discussed this!”

Ruby responded by rolling her eyes disdainfully, and looping the tie around his neck. He feigned choking as she knotted it, rolling his eyes up to the back of his head. 

“Stop moping,” she ordered, straightening his collar. She leaned back, giving him an appraising look, and smiled. “You look cute in a suit.”

“I always look cute,” he scoffed as she walked over to his dresser, looking for a comb.

“You know,” she said, scattering various eyeliner pencils in the drawer, “it’s more polite to _thank_ someone for a compliment than _agree_ with them.” She turned around, brandishing a thin black comb. “C’mere, I got to fix your hair.”

“I’m not a _doll,_ Ruby,” he grumbled, getting up and walking over nonetheless. 

She stood on tiptoe, yanking the comb through his hair unforgivingly. He winced when it snagged on a stubborn little knot; Ruby exhaled in frustration, bracing her other hand against his forehead as she tried to pull it free. 

“ _Ow!_ ”

“Stop whining.”

“Stop yanking my hair out, woman!”

“Okay, I’m _done_ , all right?” She threw the comb back into drawer, huffing. “Jesus!”

Hook rubbed his sore head, following her as she walked out of his room and headed for hers. Ruby chattered the whole way.

“So, I wanted to wear the red one today, but I found a little tear by the sleeve, so then I thought, well, maybe I should wear the burgandy one, but then I thought, no, it’s so boring, and who even wears burgandy to these things? So I was digging around and I found this purply one, which I really like, but I really wanted to wear red, because it’s kind of my thing, but then I thought, well, maybe I need a new thing, but it’s like, uh, hello, why would I need a different thing when this one clearly works? And I feel like it would get confusing if I suddenly started doing a new thing, but at the same time, it’s like, Jesus, Ruby, you’re _allowed_ to wear other colors, right? So, now I’m stuck between the other red one and the purply one.”

By the time she’d finished talking, they had made their way to their room and were now standing in front of her large closet as she rifled through dresses and hangers. Hook peered in curiously: it was truly amazing how many clothes the woman had accumulated over the years. 

“So, here’s the purple one,” Ruby said, pulling out a shimmery purple dress. “And the red one is…” She turned around in a slow circle, frowning, then snapped her fingers. “In the dresser!”

Ruby crossed the room, draping the purple dress over her arm, while Hook wandered into her closet, running his hand along all the different fabrics. Some were slippery, others soft; one of them practically Bedazzled his hand with all the loose glitter and rhinestones. 

“Hey, Ruby,” he called, something glittery on the floor of the closet catching his eye.

“Huh?”

“How about this one?”

“What one?”

Hook brought it out, beaming as he presented it to her. Ruby looked at it and narrowed her eyes; slowly she looked back up at him, clearly unamused.

“That’s a bikini,” she said flatly.

“ _Is it_?” he gasped, feigning shock as he looked round at it. Ruby rolled her eyes.

“Okay, I don’t have time for this, I’m not even _half_ ready.” She put out her hand, the other one on her hip. “Give it.”

He pretended to consider it, twisting his mouth to the side. “Mmmm…. no.”

Ruby sagged, making a soft whining noise. “Can’t you be a grown-up for, like, two minutes?” she pleaded. 

Hook sucked in a breath. “ _Two_ entire minutes? You’re really pushing it, love. I can give you forty seconds, that’s as high as I’ll go.”

“Fine. Take forty seconds, put that back in my closet, and go wait for me downstairs.” Ruby started to unclasp the curlers in her hair as she walked over to her vanity table. Hook blew out a breath, tossing the bikini back on the closet floor, and crossed the room to flop onto Ruby’s bed. 

“I’m just going to nap while I wait for you,” he yawned. “Wake me up in five hours.”

“I do _not_ take that long.”

“You do, actually.”

“Pretty sure you’re exaggerating.”

“I _wish_ I was exaggerating.”

Ruby tossed her now-wavy hair over her shoulder, then disappeared into the bathroom with her dress. Hook amused himself by pulling the beads off one of her pillows until she emerged from the bathroom again.

“That was _not_ five hours,” she said, by way of announcing herself. 

Hook sat up, leaning on his elbows to see her twirl around in her shimmery purple dress, clearly proud of herself. 

“I look good, huh?” she grinned, putting her hands on her hips. “Don’t lie to me. I look good, don’t I?”

“I still think the dress _I_ picked out would have been better,” he shrugged. Ruby looked at him exasperatedly.

“Stop being an idiot and tell me I look pretty.”

“You look pretty.”

She beamed.

 

* * *

 

“Mom?” Henry’s voice echoed through the front hall. Regina slowly lowered her cup of coffee, narrowing her eyes in her most dangerous death glare as Henry’s cautious footsteps walked to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Henry,” she said with exaggerated politeness. “How are you this fine day?”

Henry’s eyes shifted nervously to the side and back as he slowly sat down on a chair. “…Good.”

She smiled humorlessly. “That’s good. Do you have your suit ready to go?”

“It’s upstairs,” Henry said, his voice coming out faint and shaky. “On my bed.”

“Oh, excellent. You can go put it on after you eat, I don’t want you to spill anything on it.” Regina slowly rose from her, still smiling down at him. “I’ll go get your plate.”

Henry looked positively terrified by now, which was good: he had terrified her when he had just _disappeared_ off to Dr. Whale’s for whatever stupid excuse he gave Emma. He couldn’t expect that she would let something like that slide—she had raised him to be smarter than that.

“Where’s Robin?” he asked: he was in enough trouble that he didn’t feel comfortable being around her without witnesses.

“He’s just getting Roland ready, he’ll be by shortly.” Regina placed her note on the plate of eggs, and brought it over to him, smiling venomously. “Here you are, Henry.”

Henry’s eyes immediately fixed on the note, following its movement as she set the plate in front of him. He lifted it with trembling hands while Regina retook her seat; she continued to smile at him as he flipped it open and read his punishment.

“You’re assigning me a _disciplinary essay?_ ” he said in disbelief. “But you took away my computer, how do you expect me to give you  a two-thousand word essay—which, by the way, is _ridiculous_ — without a computer?”

“You’re very lucky I didn’t require it in Spanish,” Regina said, taking a sip. “And read the fine print—it has to be in cursive.”

“Mom, I don’t have time for this, I have actual papers to write for school!” Henry protested.

“Should have thought of that before you ran off without telling me,” Regina shrugged.

“I _did_ tell you.”

“No, Henry. You said, ‘I’ll be right back’. And I said, ‘Henry, wait. Stop. Where are you going? Why aren’t you answering me? Hello? Henry? Where the hell did he go?’ And from there, I proceeded to have a panic attack. You didn’t tell me where you were going, why you were taking off—“

“I just needed Dr. Whale to sign some service hours forms—“

“You, sir, are _lying._ ” Regina narrowed her eyes, leaning back in her seat as she folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t have time to discuss this with you now, because we’re supposed to be at the church by eleven, and I have another tray of cookies to put in the oven for the reception later. But if you think there’s even the _slightest_ chance I’ll forget about this, you’ve got another thing coming, buddy.” She stood up, pushing her in chair in. “Now, eat up—you’re going to need your strength to stay awake during this ridiculous affair.”

Henry grumbled under his breath, picking up his fork, as Regina dumped the dregs of her coffee in the sink. Feeling rather satisfied with herself, she tied her apron on over her dress (naturally, she’d been ready to go for a good hour already; punctuality was  an important value, after all). 

They were just chocolate chip cookies, but they were quite a masterpiece: she had modified the recipe David gave her almost imperceptibly, adding a few secret touches, nothing more—but everyone agreed, she had transformed what had been merely “delicious” to “orgasmic”. The entire house now smelled of warm, chocolate perfection: deceptively homey. It was almost difficult to believe Regina Mills, arguably the most intimidating person in any of the infinite realms, was responsible. 

Her phone buzzed, clattering against the counter as it received a text. Regina slid the tray into the over, bumping it closed with her hip as she reached for her phone. It was a text from Robin:

_Me and Roland are on our way over._

Regina typed back: _Got cookies in the oven, let yourself in._

_All right. See you in a few._

Regina leaned against the counter, indulging in her guilty pleasure: Candy Crush. She knew it was ridiculous and immature and childish, and she could come up with no conceivable explanation of why it was so important that she eliminate all those electronic chocolate bars, but _she had to._

“Damn!” she swore, as the little cartoon character reproached her for not clearing the board. Oh, how she loathed that bouncing purple imbecile!

The front door opened, and Roland’s excited baby babble echoed through the house, followed by Robin’s heavier footsteps.

“Regina?”

“In the kitchen!” she called, quickly closing out of her game. She poked her head out of the kitchen. “I’m just waiting on cookies.”

Robin swung Roland onto his shoulders, ruffling Henry’s hair as he passed him, and followed her into the kitchen. Roland sniffed the air, and immediately swiveled his head, looking for cookies.

“Cookie?” he asked Regina, swirling his finger along his cheek. Regina resisted the urge to clean the child’s face with a damp paper towel, and smiled at him.

“No, you may not have a cookie. They’re for the reception,” she informed him. She always addressed the toddler formally, never indulging in baby-talk: Regina felt that babbling to a child not only humiliated the child, but it humiliated the babbling adult in the process. It was silly to pretend that she wasn’t capable of forming grammatically correct sentences, just to appease a small boy. She never did that with Henry, and look at him now: a very intelligent, if inconsiderate and in- _so-_ much-trouble-right-now, young man. 

“You look lovely,” Robin told her, his eye twitching closed as Roland happily clapped his face with his tiny palms. 

“Yes, I do,” Regina agreed, smiling. “And you look very handsome in your suit.”

“Yes, I do,” he agreed, smiling back. “And Roland looks rather dashing, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t know they made suits in that size,” Regina said, not telling him that it was actually a little unnerving: Roland almost looked like a very miniature man in his baby-suit, and years of dealing with Snow and her murderous dwarves (who were thankfully, quite docile now) had made her wary of tiny men.

“All right, Roland,” Robin said in a strained voice as the boy leaned across his head, reaching for a cookie. “Come on—you’re killing Daddy’s neck, now.”

“Here—“ Regina lifted Roland off Robin’s shoulders; Roland kicked his feet, pointing urgently toward the cookie plate, while Robin massaged his neck. 

“No, Roland, later,” he said, as Roland made insistent whining noises.

“It’s fine,” Regina sighed. “It’s not like one cookie is going to make that much of a difference.” She handed him a cookie. Roland beamed and took a bite, smearing melted chocolate around his face. 

“Oh, _Roland,_ ” Robin wailed, dropping to his knees. “You’re a mess.”

“Cookie!” Roland said, smiling widely at Regina. 

“No more,” Robin told him. “You’ve had enough.”

“Cookie,” Roland pouted. 

“No.”

“ _Cookie._ ”

“Roland, I said, no.”

“COOKIE!”

“Would someone give that kid a goddamn cookie already?” Henry yelled. “ _Jesus._ ”

Robin fixed Roland with a stern look. “Now, look here, Roland—“

“ _COOKIE!”_

“Just give him a goddamn cookie,” Regina said through clenched teeth. Robin sighed in defeat, and handed Roland another cookie. After a moment’s pause, he took one, too.

“My God, these are…” He closed his eyes. “Regina, these cookies inspire me to be a better man.” He reached for another one, but Regina lifted the plate away.

“If you guys keep eating these, I’m not going to have enough for the reception,” she said, walking out of the kitchen with the plate.

“Where are you going?” Robin called after her.

“I’m hiding these!”

“You can hide them on the table, with a glass of milk,” Robin suggested.

Regina closed her eyes exasperatedly. She loved Robin, she did, but as for his jokes…? “Robin, you’re really funny and everything, but take my advice: don’t quit your day job.”

If these had been anyone’s cookies but her own, she would have laughed at the idea of hiding them in a room equipped with magical security; however, as they _were h_ er cookies and she was well aware that they were maddeningly tempting, Regina thought it was perfectly acceptable hide them in her vault. That was the only place she felt they were _truly_ safe. 

“Henry,” she called, stepping out of the passageway between her office and her vault. “Go get dressed, we have to leave soon!”

“Whatever…”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said, yes, ma’m.”

Regina smirked in satisfaction as she made her way back to the kitchen. _You’re damn right, “yes, ma’m”,_ she thought to herself. _You’re damn. Right._

 

* * *

 

 

Belle carefully zipped the cover over her dress, taking care that the zipper didn’t snag on the floaty material. Last thing she needed was a tear in her dress.

The day had been going smoothly enough, but it wasn’t without its problems: Granny’s catering crew was late; Aurora nearly threw up on her bridesmaid dress because of her morning sickness; and Ruby had texted Rumple twenty minutes ago, saying she might be dropping Hook off late, because she was having a difficult time convincing him to wear his tie. 

But other than that, things were coming together. Grace and her friends had already started work on decorating the ball room for the reception, although she was going to have Granny’s crew set up the tables and chairs (if they _ever_ arrived). No one called with last-minute flower emergencies, or bad news about the minister; everyone else was apparently arriving to the church on time, and it wasn’t like they could start _without_ Belle and Rumple, so if she was a few minutes late…? Meh. Not the worst thing that could happen. 

Belled carefully brought her dress down the stairs. She was planning on putting it on in the church, as it was too big to wear in the car with Rumple _and_ Hook _and_ Tink. 

“Hey, Tink!” she called to the kitchen. “You want to carry this out to the car for me?”

“Yeah, hang on…”

Tink strolled out of the kitchen a few minutes later, grimacing. “That’s some weak-ass coffee,” she said, jutting her thumb behind her. 

“I know,” Belle sighed. “We should have gone to David’s for breakfast, he makes _great_ coffee. And pancakes, from what I hear.”

Tink raised an eyebrow. “That’s random,” she said, taking the dress.

“Well, _Neal_ mentioned it the other day,” Belle said, enjoying watching Tink flush bright red. As per her request, Belle hadn’t said a word to Neal about Tink’s near-obsession with him, but that didn’t stop _her_ from tormenting Tink. 

Tink hurried out the door, either from embarrassment or from needing a blast of icy air to act as a cold shower. Belle shook her head, snorting. She really was a shitty nun. _If_ she could be called a nun at all: somehow, she doubted they were supposed to wear dresses that tight and short.

“You ready, Rumple?” she called, padding into the kitchen. She found him bent over the table, scribbling feverishly. “What’s that?”

“Neal said my wedding vows were rubbish, so I’m redoing them,” he explained, frowning in concentration. Belle walked over, leaning her chin on his head so she could skim what he’d written.

“Eww…  Rumple, you’re not _actually_ going to compare my eyes to pools of water, are you?”

“What?” he said, sounding mildly offended. “It’s romantic.”

“It’s so _cheesy_ ,” she complained. “Just say they’re pretty and be done with it.”

Rumple huffed, scratching out the line, muttering darkly. Belle tsked sympathetically, giving him a little hug.

“You don’t have to stress out about it,” she murmured into his shoulder. “Just say some nice things about me, promise to love me, blah blah blah, and you’re done.”

Rumple sagged. “Are you serious?” he whined, setting down his pencil. “That’s _all_ I had to do?”

She laughed. “You’ve worked hard enough with Archie; you can relax with me.”

Rumple had been going to Archie for counseling sessions for two solid years now. He had been working on anger issues, guilt issues, depression issues…. lots of issues. But with a lot of cognitive-behavioral therapy and patience from Archie, he had managed to become a much happier and relaxed person. 

Probably the biggest change was weaning him off magic. Rumple hadn’t used magic in a year and a half, as it had a nasty habit of getting to his head and inflaming all his emotional insecurities and inner demons. Belle had spent countless hours babysitting him at the library to make sure he didn’t so much as turn a card trick, until he had gained enough control over his addiction to be trusted alone. 

Right now, the only problem between them was his late-night cereal and _Sixty Minutes_ habit. 

The door opened in the front hall, and multiple voices overlapped, echoing off the walls. Belle straightened up, loosening her hold on Rumple.

“That’ll be Hook,” she said.

“Oh, _goody._ ”

“Rumple,” she admonished. “He’s my mister-of-honor. Be nice.”

“That is _so_ strange,” Rumple said, shaking his head. “Who has a mister-of-honor?”

“Hey, guys—“ Tink popped her head in. “Hook’s here. And head’s-up, he brought Ruby.”

“ _What?_ ” Belle hissed. Why would he bring _Ruby_ here? “God, can’t he just break up with her again?”

Tink shrugged. “She’s not so bad, after a while.”

“You’re only saying that because he keeps her away from Neal,” Belle said accusingly. Tink’s face turned bright red again.

“I gotta get something outside,” she muttered, and disappeared. Rumple shuddered.

“Not going to lie, it really freaks me out when she does that,” he said to Belle. 

“You should have been there when she saw him in the library,” she chuckled. “Oh, God… yeah, that was traumatizing.” She clapped her hands on his shoulder. “Okay, you stay here and finish your vows. I’m going to say hi to Hook and his slut girlfriend.”

“You mean, Ruby and her slut boyfriend?”

“The two sluts,” Belle compromised, going out the door. “I’m going to say hi to the two sluts.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Hook said, taking a seat on the couch next to Ruby. “What a lovely way to greet someone. Did you hear that, Ruby? We’re ‘the two sluts’.”

Belle smiled sheepishly, the kitchen door closing behind her. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“And yet I did.”

She shrugged. “If you don’t want to be called a slut, don’t be a slut.”

“Can we stop talking about this?” Ruby said testily. Hook side-eyed her, his smile fading.

“Right… sorry, love. Forgot.”

“Forgot wha—? _Oh,”_ Belle said in dawning comprehension. “That thing Snow said in the diner a couple weeks back, I totally forgot…Wow, are you still mad about that?”

Ruby glared at her. “Yes, I am still mad about that,” she hissed. “And don’t mention that name in front of me.”

“It’s a stupid name,” Hook agreed. “ _Snow._ Absolutely ridiculous.”

Belle dropped into Rumple’s armchair, putting her feet up. She gave Hook  considering look, tilting her head. “Hey, stand up,” she said, jutting her chin at him. “Lemme see.”

Hook groaned, sagging back against the couch. “I’m too tired.”

“Aw, come on,” she said, motioning with her hand. “Stand up. Twirl for me, bitch.”

“I’m not going to—“

“Twirl!” she commanded. 

Hook exhaled impatiently, and pushed himself off the couch into a standing position. “Happy?”

“ _Aww, y_ ou wore something nice…” She smiled, giving the suit a once-over. “Look at you, in your fancy little suit.”

“Well, I’m the mister-of-honor, aren’t I?” Hook said, rolling his eyes. He dropped back onto the couch. “So, what’s the deal? When are we leaving?”

“Soon,” Belle yawned. “I’m waiting for Granny’s guys to get here so I can let them in.” She flicked her eyes at Ruby. “Any idea when they’re getting here?”

“I’m not working today,” Ruby said, narrowing her eyes at Belle’s tone. “So no, I don’t have the details.”

“Would it make a difference if you _were_ working?” Belle asked dryly. “I wasn’t under the impression you do much, either way. At least—“ her eyes rested briefly on Hook—“nothing restaurant-related.”

Ruby kept her face expressionless, though her nails were digging grooves into wooden armrest. “I’m laughing on the inside,” she said flatly. 

“I’m laughing on the outside,” Hook chuckled, shaking his head. Ruby rolled her eyes.

“So obnoxious,” she muttered.

“You’re obnoxious,” he muttered back.

“Oh, that’s mature.”

“ _You’re_ mature.”

“All right, children,” Tink said, reappearing in the front hall. “Settle down.” She looked at Belle, raising her eyebrows. “You ready to go?”

“Waiting for catering guys,” Belle explained, getting up from the chair. “Anyone want a coffee while we wait?”

“I do,” Hook said, standing up.

“I could go for some coffee,” Ruby shrugged.

Tink groaned as she followed them into the kitchen. “But that coffee _sucks.”_

Rumple glanced up from his notecards as they entered the kitchen. “Morning, ladies,” he said pleasantly, and gave Hook a curt nod. “Hook.”

“Crocodile,” Hook nodded.

“I still don’t know what that means,” Rumple frowned. Hook shrugged, leaning against the counter as he thumbed through his phone. 

Belle stood on tiptoe to bring out the mugs, and set them gently on the counter. “Okay, how does everyone like their coffee?” she asked, uncapping the cream.

“Ruby knows my order,” Hook said absently. Ruby flicked him in the head.

“Ruby’s not working today,” she reminded him. She glanced at Belle. “Just enough cream so it’s not black. Same for me.”

“Oo-ooh,” Tink said mockingly, her legs swinging from the counter. “Look at you two, with the same _coffee order._ Practically married.”

“Oh, look, _Neal_ just texted me,” Hook said loudly, showing her his phone. Tink snapped her head toward Belle, her eyes wide with fury.

“You _TOLD_ him?”

“Oh, like it was really that hard to figure out!” Belle said scathingly. “You’re so _obvious_ about it! I have to keep a bucket close by, just to catch all your drool!”

“You PROMISED!”

“No, I promised I wouldn’t tell _Neal_ , I didn’t say anything about Hook!”

Tink fumed as Belle went back to preparing coffee. Hook, Ruby, and Rumple looked between the two of them, as if bracing themselves for another outburst; but Tink contented herself with muttering threats under her breath while Belle glared at the streams of coffee she was pouring into cups. 

“Here,” Belle said, handing two cups to Hook and Ruby. She peered at Tink, who was still glaring at the floor. “Coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“Then you have time to go put your bridesmaid dress on.”

“Ooh, that reminds me—“ Ruby took a gulp of coffee and set it down, rummaging in her tiny purse for her keys. “I have to go pick up Aurora and what’s-her-face—“ she snapped her fingers—“Annabel?”

“Ariel.”

“ _Right._ ” Ruby dug out her keys, holding them up triumphantly. “Come on, Tink, you’re riding with me. By the way—that coffee sucks.”

“Bye,” Hook said absently as she and Tink hurried out of the kitchen, frowning as he swirled the contents of his cup. He took a careful sip.

 _“Blecch!_ ” he gagged, coughing into his elbow. He scooted the cup away from him,  making a disgusted face. “God, that coffee _sucks._ ”

“You suck,” Rumple murmured, not looking up from his notecards. 

“Boys,” Belle said warningly, leaning against the counter with her own cup.”Don’t fight—and _wow,_ this coffee sucks.” She poured it down the drain, shaking her head and grimacing. “You almost done with those, Rumple?”

“Mmm…” Rumple muttered, tapping his pen against his lips. Hook walked over curiously, frowning at the notecards.

“What are you writing?”

“Wedding vows, get away from me.”

Hook didn’t move; his mouth opened slightly as he read the vows over Rumple’s shoulder. “You know, you can’t actually say any of this out loud, mate.”

Rumple made a noise like an angry cat and threw his pen down. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Shh,” Belle said soothingly, giving Hook an annoyed look. He held up his hands in mock surrender, stepping away from Rumple so Belle could place a comforting arm around his shoulder. “Rumple, it’s all right—“

“No, it’s not all right,” he sighed. “I’m not good at this, Belle. I’m going to humiliate myself in front of the whole town. And you. But mostly myself.”

“They’re not that bad,” Belle lied, glancing over them. “They’re actually quite sweet… in their own way.”

Rumple moaned in despair, putting his head down on the table. Belle looked up at Hook helplessly, still rubbing soothing circles around Rumple’s back; he looked down at Rumple, twitching his mouth to the side indecisively.

“All right, give it here, mate,” he said finally, holding out his hand. Rumple lifted his head, looking at Hook incredulously.

“Excuse me?”

Hook closed his eyes, as if he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of his mouth. “Give it here, I’ll help you.”

“Help me? _You?_ With what? I’m not trying to come up with a dirty punchline, I’m writing wedding vows,” Rumple said, guarding his notecards.

“Do you know how many romantic speeches I churn out in a week?” He didn’t wait for him to answer. “A lot. So, yes, _I know what I’m doing.”_

“Rumple,” Belle said softly, placing her hand on his. “He’s right, he’s kind of got a knack for this stuff. Maybe he can help.”

“But…” Rumple looked at her desperately, silently begging her to put a stop to this. “Belle, please… his speeches are so ridiculous. I’m going to look like an idiot.”

“You’re going to look like an even bigger idiot if you read _those_ ,” Hook said briskly, pulling out a chair. “Just write down what I say.” He cleared his throat. “ _My dearest Belle…”_


	20. Chapter 20

It was an uncomfortable ride to the church.

David had offered to drive so that Neal could keep everyone updated on everyone else’s status via text, making sure everything was keeping close enough to schedule that Belle didn’t freak out. The entire car ride was full of _pings!_ and buzzing as Neal sent and received texts to Regina, Hook, and Ruby, double-checking that everyone was where they were supposed to be.

Since David was driving, Snow was sitting up front with him—which left Emma crammed in the back with Neal. She looked out the window, trying to keep her mind off him because they were bros, and that was it; that was what she asked for, that was what he agreed to do—for her. 

Which was really sweet. 

Because he cared about her. 

And he was just a thoughtful guy. 

A nice guy. 

A great guy, really. And damn, he looked _fine_ in that suit—

 _Emma,_ she scolded herself. Bros didn’t think about other bros like that. And that was all they were: bros.

The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed that she would think of Neal as anything other than a bro. _Of course,_ when she told him he looked hot, she was telling him he looked hot _as a bro_. And when her stomach flipped when he reached across her to seal the window shut, her stomach flipped _as a bro._

And then stupid David had to make a sharp turn, and she collided with Neal, and realized that she definitely wasn’t thinking about him as just a bro. 

Emma tried to quell the queasy feeling in her stomach by focusing at the blurred trees they passed on the road. It wasn’t like those stupid high school movies, where the girl realized she was in love with her best friend the whole time. It was like those pain-in-the-ass adult relationships, where the girl and the guy had a weird relationship for two years that hovered between friendship and romance, and the girl said she just wanted to be friends, but as soon as the guy agreed to just stick with the friendship aspect, the girl started wanting the romance aspect back, and everything was falling to shit, plus her shoes hurt.

“Emma,” Neal said in a low voice, elbowing her to show her something on his phone. “Look what Hook sent me.”

Emma took the phone from his hand, peering at the screen: Belle took up the whole backseat in a ridiculously puffy gown, giving the camera a very disgruntled look. The text accompanying it read: _Tink decided to ride with Ruby, so Belle would have room for her dress in the back… Your dad and I just laughed ourselves to death. This is Hook from beyond the grave texting you right now._

“And look—“ Emma was suddenly very aware of how close they were sitting when his hand brushed against her hair to slide to another photo—“he took a picture of her on the sidewalk.”

Emma forced a laugh, trying to sound casual as she leaned back in her seat. “That’s some dress,” she agreed.

“Can I see?” Snow asked. Emma watched Neal leaned across the small space to show Snow the picture, unable to keep herself from reliving the memory from earlier that morning:

_“You clean up pretty good.”_

_“Thanks, bro.”_

_Bro._ Ugh.

Where did he get off calling her “bro”, anyway? There she was, an absolute _vision_ in green ( _she_ thought, anyway), telling him he how handsome he looked on his way to a romantic event, and his biggest reaction was a “Thanks, bro”?  He was supposed to be struck dumb as she was coming down the stairs, gaping at her goddamn beauty! He was supposed to be all nervous and shy and smiley as he realized how he still had feelings for her, and she was ready to reciprocate those feelings! He was supposed to stutter and tell her she looked beautiful, and ask her to dance at the reception, and when exactly did she start daydreaming about her life as a romantic comedy?

 _I’ve got to stop watching those goddamn Jennifer Anniston movies,_ she told herself, shaking her head. It was really starting to become a problem.

But she couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it. She went from the car to the parking lot to the front hall of the church in a daze, hardly seeing where she was going. She had a vague idea that she _shouldn’t be thinking these things,_ but why? What was so terrible? It wasn’t like he was dating anyone, or he was her cousin or anything; he was the father of her child, it was _natural_ for her to think about him like that! 

Where _did_ he get off, calling her “bro”? Emma scoffed. _Please._ Who did he think he was kidding? He _had_ to think of her as more than a bro, they’d only been doing the strictly-friendship thing for a little less than a month. That was up against _two years_ of the undetermined/possibly-romantic thing. And he had the audacity to call her “bro”! Huh! She’d show him. She’d show him, _good._

Her opportunity came when Rumple’s car finally pulled into the parking lot, and Hook stepped out. Emma smirked to herself: she had played this game many times, but now she had a _specific_ goal in mind: Neal. She just needed to borrow Hook for a minute, just to demonstrate that Emma Swan was capable of being more than a bro.

“Oh, _look_ at _you!_ ” she beamed at Hook as he entered the front hall. Hook raised an eyebrow as she came running toward him, _ooh_ ing and _ahh_ ing. “Wow, you look _great._ ”

“Thanks,” he said, giving her a puzzled smile. Emma smiled back at him, “absently” twirling a lock of hair around her finger. Hook seemed to realize that she was waiting for him to say something, because he added after a minute,“You look beautiful.”

“Do I?” she said, giving an airy little laugh as her hand found its way to his shoulder. 

“Quite…” Hook eyed her hand quizzically, and dragged his eyes back to hers. “You all right, love?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, still smiling as her hand traveled slowly down his arm.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” Her fingers danced around his hook. He stared down at them for a minute, then slowly raised his eyes.

“Emma?”

“Mmm?”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Scaring you? What do you mean?” she asked soothingly, trailing her fingers back up to his shoulder.

“Have you been drinking?” he asked, looking at her concernedly. Emma dropped her hand, the smile sliding right off her face.

“No, I haven’t been drinking,” she said irritably. “I’m flirting with you, you _moron._ ”

“Oh! Carry on, then.”

Emma refrained from rolling her eyes, plastering a brilliant smile on her face as she continued in a carrying voice. “You look _so_ sexy. Neal—“she turned around, slipping her arm around Hook’s neck—“doesn’t he look sexy?”

“You look sexy, dude.”

“Oh, did you get the pictures?” Hook said, instantly forgetting Emma; he let her arm slide right off as he walked toward Neal, grinning. “Did you see the sidewalk one?”

“Yeah, yeah,”Neal nodded, laughing. “Where is she? I got to see this thing up close.”

“Still trying to get out of the car,” Hook snorted, and they both collapsed in laughter. 

Emma drew out a long, tense breath. _Really?_ If Hook didn’t sit still and just let her finish flirting with him, how in the hell was she supposed to make Neal jealous enough to realize that they belonged together, goddamn it?! 

 _Okay, relax, Emma. You got this,_ she told herself, taking a determined breath before sauntering over to them.

“What are we talking about, boys?” she asked, curling her arm around Hook again.

“Belle’s dress,” Neal said, apparently not noticing as she leaned into Hook, smiling up at him. “It’s _ridiculously_ huge. You remember, you saw the pic—“

“Your eyes are _so_ blue,” Emma said in awe, gazing up at Hook as though Neal were little more than a fly on the wall. “I mean, _wow._ ”

Hook smiled down at her uncertainly. “Just…regular old blue, love.”

“No, they’re like _blue_ blue,” she insisted. “Absolutely beautiful. _Blue-_ tiful.”

“That’s… clever. Are you sure you’re not drunk?” he asked in a low voice.

Emma gasped, and playfully smacked him on the shoulder. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” she asked, laughing breathily. 

“No, I’m asking if you’re _already_ drunk.” Hook gave her a strange look. “You don’t seem well, Emma. Maybe you should sit down.”

“Maybe _you_ should sit down,” she said huskily, arching a provocative eyebrow.

Hook’s brow twitched. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Yeah, me, neither,” she sighed.

 

* * *

 

 

Ruby’s teeth chattered as she waited outside Aurora’s house. 

“Turn up the heat, would you?” Tink grumbled, rubbing her arms. “I’m freezing.”

“The heat’s been on the fritz lately,” Ruby said, her voice shaky from her trembling. “Billy still hasn’t got around to fixing it.” 

“I’m sure Aurora won’t be too long,” Ariel said, shivering violently. “Just give her another minute.”

“We’ll probably be _dead_ in another minute,” Ruby pointed out.

“Okay, well, I’m not sitting here and letting myself freeze to death,” Tink said irritably, pushing the door open. Ruby cringed at the gust of icy air, shivering against her steering wheel.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m telling the pregnant idiot to hurry up and get in the car!” Tink called back, striding toward the house. Ariel made a miserable moaning sound while Ruby huddled against the seat, futilely trying to glean some warmth from the cloth. 

 _Stupid Billy,_ she thought bitterly, trying to warm her numb fingers by exhaling on them. It was amazing, how back when she was single, Billy had more than enough time to check out her car: whether it was a weird rattling noise she noticed, or simply helping her set the radio stations, Billy always had a clear enough schedule to take a look at the issue. But strangely enough, once she and Hook had established themselves as Storybrooke’s hottest new couple (for however many hours it lasted at a time), Billy suddenly had a billion zillion customers he needed to take care of. There was no more _dropping by_ the garage so he could just take a glance at something; now, she actually needed to make appointments! And _wait!_

Ruby had tried to flirt her way to the front of the line, but that had failed miserably, as most of the other customers either had their wives or girlfriends close by: she earned _quite_ a few dark—and admittedly, well-deserved— looks that day. So now she was stuck with a shitty car, with no heating, all because she simply _had_ to have a boyfriend. Her opinion would probably be different as soon as she was able to raise her core temperature again, but at the moment, it was _so not worth it._

Tink came striding out of the house, dragging a protesting Aurora by the arm behind her. She only had one arm in her coat-sleeves, and she was carrying her shoes in her free hand, hurriedly tip-toeing after Tink on the icy ground.

“Sorry,” she breathed when she got in the car. “I wasn’t feeling so great earlier. You know I’ve been having—“

“Morning sickness, we know,” Ruby said, rolling her eyes. Aurora told anyone who would stand still long enough to listen about her morning sickness and her weird cravings and her aches and how it was such an honor to _know that she was carrying a life._

“We’ve decided we don’t want to know the sex of the baby,” Aurora said, as they drove down the main road. “We want to name our child the moment we hold him or her in our arms.”

“Awesome,” Ruby said, wondering if Aurora actually thought people wanted to hear about her boring baby. “So, who’s going to get trashed at the reception?”

“Me!” Tink said instantly, raising her hand. Ariel smiled from the back, and hesitantly put up hers. Ruby nodded in approval, flashing them a smile.

“I can’t,” Aurora said, sighing slightly. “It’s bad for the baby. I’m two months along, it’s a very critical developmental period—“

“Awesome,” Ruby repeated. “Oh, my God, you guys, I’m _so_ excited for this party. I hope she got those guys who played at the Halloween party, they were really good.”

“What, the Lost Boys?” Tink scoffed. “Gross.”

“It’s kind of a cool band name,” Ruby shrugged. “And they were good. I _loved_ their cover of ‘Hot and Cold’, like all techno and shit.”

“You were drunk off your ass,” Tink argued. “Anything would have sounded good.”

“That’s true,” Ruby mused, turning into the parking lot. 

“Why do they call themselves ‘The Lost Boys’, anyway?” Ariel asked, frowning. “Most of them looked a little old to be called _boys._ ”

“Well, ‘The Lost Men’ just sounds stupid, doesn’t it?” Tink snorted. 

“Still, I wouldn’t mind if she _did_ get them for the party,” Ruby said as she pulled into a parking space. “The lead singer was _hot._ ”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Aurora asked, looking at her scandalously.

Ruby turned around slowly, raising her eyebrows. “So…?”

Aurora’s eyebrows shot up, and she pursed her lips disapprovingly, but she didn’t say anything; just continued rubbing circles around her stomach. 

Everyone scrambled out of the car, eager to get inside the heated building. Ruby clattered toward the church as fast as her heels would allow, swearing violently as the harsh wind cut through her flimsy dress. “Oh, _shit,_ it’s cold out there,” she shivered as she stamped her way inside. Immediately, she cast her eyes around the room, looking for Hook.

She found him in the corner, laughing with his usual crowd over some pictures on his phone. Ruby smiled to herself as she walked over: before her, Hook hadn’t been able to operate a _flip-phone._

“Hey…guys.” Her smile faltered as she noticed Emma’s arm snaking around Hook’s neck, her fingers combing through his hair. Hook looked up, beaming at her.

“Did you see Belle’s dress?” he asked eagerly, walking right out of Emma’s hold. “Here, let me show you.”

Ruby leaned in to see the screen, laughing as he let her scroll through the pictures of Belle in a ridiculously puffy dress. “Oh, my _God!_ ”

“I know!” he said delightedly. 

Ruby glanced at Emma, who was watching them curiously. Immediately, Ruby wrapped a protective arm around Hook, mimicking Emma’s earlier stance as she brushed her fingers through his hair. Hook looked down at her in surprise, smiling faintly.

“Bit early for that, isn’t it?” he muttered. 

Ruby smiled, her eyes darting to Emma’s frowning face, and back. “We’ll see.”

Hook raised his eyebrows at that, opening his mouth to say something, but Ruby silenced him with a quick kiss.

“Belle’s probably waiting for you to join her and all her other bridesmaids,” she said, loosening her arm. “In the back room,” she added, seeing the question form in his eyes. She pointed him in the right direction. “Just through that door.”

Hook let out a small sigh, and nodded a farewell to them, before going off to start fulfilling his role as the world’s first mister-of-honor. Ruby’s smile slowly slid off her face, disappearing as he did; once he was gone, she whirled around, glaring at Emma.

“ _So_ ,” she said, walking toward her. “I hate to reprise my role as the jealous girlfriend, but you keep calling for an encore. So here you go: Act 2, Scene 1: _Enter Ruby._ ”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand this metaphor.”

“Let me put it into simpler terms, then,” Ruby said, leaning in threateningly. “Keep your hands _off_ my boyfriend.”

Emma opened her mouth in dawning comprehension. “Oh…”

“Yes, _oh…._ ” Ruby snapped back. 

Emma made a frustrated noise.“Okay, I think we need to talk.”

“No, I think we—oh, okay, just ignore me, then,” she said as Emma took her arm, leading her to a more deserted corner of the room. Emma glanced around, as if checking to make sure no one was listening, before leaning in conspiratorially.

“Look, I get that you’re upset, but you seriously don’t have to be,” she said in a low voice, talking very fast. “I’m not trying to get between you and Hook here, I’m just borrowing him.”

“Borrowing him.” Ruby arched an eyebrow. “That… kind of makes it sound like I randomly pimp him out for ladies to _borrow._ ”

Her eyebrows jumped. “Wow, Ruby,” she said, standing back. “Wow.”

“ _You_ brought it up.”

“I didn’t know you were going to take it like _that!_ ” Emma said exasperatedly. “You know what? Never mind. Point is, it didn’t mean anything, you don’t have anything to worry about. That’s all.”

“Is that so? Because it looked like you were planning to drag him off into a corner and—“

“Because I was trying to make Neal jealous!” Emma hissed, covering Ruby’s mouth with her hand. Ruby looked at her with wide eyes, blinking rapidly at this curious new development. Emma slowly removed her hand, warning Ruby to stay quiet with her eyes. “I was trying to make Neal jealous,” she repeated. “I swear. That’s it. I’m not interested in Hook.”

Ruby raised her eyebrows. “No?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Not even a little?”

“Not even a little.”

She scoffed at that, tossing her head derisively. “How could you _not_ be? I mean, have you _seen_ him?” Ruby shook her head, laughing, as she strode past Emma. “ _Not interested…_ please.”

 

* * *

 

 

Belle tilted her head, swirling her skirt as she considered herself in the mirror. She couldn’t understand why Hook and Rumple had laughed so hard: all she wanted was to look like a princess. And in this dress, she did.

So it was a little poofy. Well, she liked poofy! And she didn’t need Mr.’s Wore-Ridiculously-Tight-Leather and Same-Coat-For-Three-Hundred-Years to give her attitude about her wardrobe.

“It’s a good thing you’re doing this now,” Aurora said, checking her curls in the mirror. “Another couple of months, and I wouldn’t have been able to fit into my dress.” She beamed around the room. “Phillip and I—“

“Are having another kid, we know,” Tink said loudly. “Congratulations, you’re bringing another idiot into the world.”

Aurora looked highly offended. “ _Well!_ ”

“Guys,” Belle said, holding up her hand. “Just… shut up and talk about my bridal beauty or something.”

“Look at her bridal beauty!” a loud voice said as the door opened. Belle turned around to see Hook coming toward her, grinning. She gave him a withering look.

“If you’re coming to laugh at me again—“

“Oh, _Belle,_ ” he said with exaggerated impatience. “Don’t be mad.”

“No. I’m mad at you,” she shrugged, turning back to her reflection. 

He looked at her in the mirror with sad eyes. “Don’t be mad?” he pleaded, putting his chin on her shoulder. “ _Please?_ ”

“Why are you in here?” she asked irritably, shrugging her shoulder away. Hook rolled his eyes at her stubbornness as he threw himself down in the chair by the mirror.

“Ruby told me I had to wait here _with the other bridesmaids._ ” He shook his head in shame. “Look at me. I’m the head bridesmaid.”

“You mean, the head brides-mister?” Tink said dryly, giving Belle a disdainful look. Belle refused to be belittled.

“‘Mister-of-honor’ is _not_ a stupid term, I don’t care _what_ you say,” she said staunchly. “You’re just jealous, because I thought of it first.”

“Oh!” Aurora said suddenly, pressing her hand to her stomach. 

Hook, Belle, and Tink slowly trailed their eyes over to her, all wearing the same bored expression. Aurora looked back with wide eyes, apparently thinking they were as breathlessly excited as she was.

“I think I just felt a kick!”

“Little bastard beat me to it,” Tink muttered, snapping her fingers. Hook curled his lip.

“What, you’ve got another little bugger coming?” he said, looking more disgusted than congratulatory.

“I’m two months along,” she said, smiling shyly. 

Hook looked supremely uninterested. “How fascinating.” He glanced down as his phone buzzed with a text. He took it out of his jacket pocket, swiping his thumb across the screen, and squinted at it, the slight frown etched on his face deepening as he read it. 

“I’ll be back,” he said absently, rising from his seat. 

“Back? Where are you going?” Belle turned around to watch him walk hurriedly out of the room. “Hook?”

“I’ll be back!” 

The door closed behind him. Belle blinked a few times, startled by the sudden departure. “What was _that_ all about?”

“Ruby probably got bored and needed something to _do_ ,” Tink said crassly. Belle made an exasperated noise. Yep—this was why she and Hook had been best friends in Neverland. 

“Ugh. _Ruby_ …” She glowered, turning back to the mirror as Tink lazily draped in herself in Hook’s abandoned chair. “I hate that bitch.”

“Why?” Tink drawled.

“Why what?”

“Why do you hate that bitch?” she clarified with exaggerated patience.

“Don’t worry about—“

“OH MY GOD,” Tink said, covering her ears. “If you say ‘Don’t worry about it’, I’m going suffocate you with your own dress.”

Belle turned around slowly, looking at her in mild surprise; Tink looked back, lifting her eyebrows as if to say, _Well?_

After a minute, Belle shrugged. “All right. Come fix my hair. I’ll tell you.”

Tink brightened at the thought of gossiping about Ruby behind her back, and bounded over to the little vanity table. Belle struggled to de-poof her gown enough to sit down as Tink armed herself with a comb and a curler. 

“Talk to me,” she ordered.

“All ri— _ow!_ Tink! What are you trying to do, rip my head off? _Gently._ ”

“Gently,” she agreed. “Okay, talk.”

Belle grimaced, somewhat reluctant to bare one of her closely guarded secrets—to Tinker Bell, no less. But it _would_ have been nice, if at least one person knew her hatred for Ruby was at least justified, that she wasn’t just some random raving bitch. Again, _Tinker Bell_ , but still… it was someone.

“We actually used to be friends,” she said grudgingly. “When the first curse broke, me and Rumple were having some problems, and I needed some space. So she helped me get a room, find a job at the library—“

“Wow. What a bitch.”

“Tink, shut up.” Belle readjusted herself in the seat, thinking that perhaps this dress was a _tad_ poofy, after all. “She helped me out some, so we became pretty good friends.  We bonded over iced tea…” she trailed off, getting a little lost in the memory. “Pretty sure she was hitting on me at one point.”

Tink’s eyebrows shot up. “A scorned _lover,_ ” she gasped mockingly. “ _Scandalous._ ”

“Ew, don’t say ‘lover’,” Belle said, wrinkling her nose. “And no, that’s not what it was.” 

Tink shrugged disbelievingly, combing through her hair. 

“Ruby was afraid she wouldn’t remember how to stay lucid during the full moon. And then she got all freaked out when David found this mangled body by the docks, ‘cause she thought she ate him.”

“Gross,” Tink said nonchalantly. “Who’d she eat?”

“Well, at the time, we _thought_ it was Billy, so everyone was pretty upset because he’s our best mechanic,” Belle said. “Thankfully, it was just some random guy. I mean, it was still sad and everything, but it’s not like we knew him, so…” She was suddenly aware that over the years, she had developed into a cynical, vaguely horrible person. And that it didn’t bother her as much as it should have.

“Keep going,” Tink prodded.

“Right, so, she got all upset, and then she wanted David to lock her in a cell, but Spencer demanded that she be given up to the mob. Frankly, I was most surprised that he was able to organize a _mob,_ in this day and age. I mean, they had pitchforks and torches and everything.”

Tink looked impressed. “Torches, really?”

“Yeah. So David told him to back off and leave her alone—“

“Oh, David’s so nice.”

“He’s awesome, I love that guy. Makes _great_ coffee. But yeah, he told Spencer to back off, and then he, Granny, and Ruby came to me and asked if she could stay in the library during her transformation. I was a little concerned, for obvious reasons, but she brought chains and handcuffs—“

“ _Kinky._ ”

Belle exhaled impatiently, choosing to ignore her. “So, I was giving her a pep talk, because she was all upset and calling herself a monster and that she deserved to be thrown to the mob and blah blah blah… I was trying to console her, so I gave this really moving speech—“ Belle took a deep breath—“and the bitch chains me up.”

Tink stared at her for a moment, then grinned. “ _Fifty Shades of Ruby._ ”

“Oh. My. God.” Belle closed her eyes, shaking her head. Tink was possibly the most depraved, dirty-minded nun in the entire universe: a really, _really_ shitty nun. “You know, if I wanted a running commentary of dirty jokes, I could have just waited for Hook to come back.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Tink said, fighting against her smile. “Go on.”

“You need to promise me that you’re not going to make any more sex jokes.”

“I can’t make that promise.”

Belle stared at her in disgust. “You’re in a _church._ ”

“You should probably get on with the story, before I start asking you for details about the hot lesbian sex,” Tink said loudly.

 Aurora’s head snapped up, and she flushed a violent shade of pink. Tink watched with raised eyebrows as she picked up her skirts and scurried out of the room, nearly tripping in her haste. Slowly, Tink turned back around, shrugging. “Must be bad for the baby,” she muttered.

“I’ll go get her,” Ariel offered, standing up. 

“Don’t bring her back _too_ quickly,” Tink said as she opened the door. She looked back at Belle in the mirror. “I can try to keep the jokes to minimum, but you have to stop setting me up.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

Tink smiled, and waved her hand for her to continue.

“So,” she sighed. “She chained me up in the library—“

“Were you guys playing ‘Sexy Librarian’? _Sorry,_ ” Tink said as Belle exhaled in frustration. “It’s just—I thought of that one earlier, I just never got a chance to say it. Keep going.”

She took a deep breath. “So, I’m sitting in that library, chained up in the dark, for hours and hours and hours. The last thing she says to me is that she’s going to give herself up to the mob, so there I am—chained to the wall, thinking she’s going to go let herself be ripped apart by angry villagers. _Later,_ I find out she actually spent the night doing some self-discovery and _finding herself_. Apparently, she and David were gallivanting around, chasing after Spencer, having deep, personal conversations, bonding and shit… Meanwhile, I’m chained in the library. No one thinks to call me to tell me she’s okay. No one thinks to check to make sure _I_ wasn’t ripped apart by angry villagers. No one thinks to unlock me from the chains, because at this point, my wrist is all red and raw from pulling at them… What assholes.

“But I forgave them,” she went on. “Everyone was dealing with shit, and I had my own stuff to worry about, so I didn’t have time. It was still a little bitter, but hey, whatever.”

Tink nodded slowly. “And…?”

“And then Hook comes to town,” Belle said as Tink wrapped a strand of her around the curler. “We have this really weird game of hide and seek for the better part of the day, before he shoots me—“

“That bitch.”

“I know. But anyways, he shoots me, and I stumble over the town line, and lose my memory, right? So, I’m in the hospital with amnesia, painfully confused about everything that’s going on…and Ruby drops by.” Belle shrugged. “Says she’s going to help me remember who I am, help me figure things out, keep an eye on me… stuff that _friends_ do for each other.

“Well, for a week or so, she kept her promise. Brought me books, talked to me…” Belle drew out a long, bitter breath. “And then she notices the other victim.”

“Hook,” Tink said knowingly. 

“Hook. And suddenly, she doesn’t have time to visit me; she has to discuss things with Dr. Whale while he’s checking up on him. And then she doesn’t have time to bring me books, because she has to be on guard duty outside his room while Emma questions him. And then she doesn’t have time to talk to me, because she has to roll her eyes at him flirting with her. Meanwhile—“ Belle’s voice rose, and she clenched her fists—“ _I’m_ sitting there, being manipulated and used by Regina, getting false memories, thinking I’m some psycho bitch named Lacey, getting mauled by the _Sheriff of Nottingham—_ also known as the _sleaziest,_ most _disgusting,_ most _repulsive,_ only _vaguely_ human piece of shit on the face of the earth—while the love of my life is miserable because I don’t remember him or myself! And does she come rushing to my rescue, to help pick me back up from the dark place I’ve fallen into? No. No, she’s far too busy drooling over the newest guy in town: Henry’s estranged father, one Mr. Neal Cassidy. Who she doesn’t even _know.”_ Belle took a minute to catch her breath, looking at Tink’s wide-eyed expression in the mirror. “I mean, let’s just forget about the fact that I dropped everything to help her when she was having _her_ identity crisis, got chained up in a building that had an angry mob demanding _blood_ outside it, was left there for hours and hours and hours without knowing anything—but when _I’m_ having problems, she doesn’t have time to drop in, just to make sure I’m not doing anything or anyone I shouldn’t be? I mean, what the _fuck?_ ”

Tink stared at her open-mouthed for a long time, not even blinking. “Wow,” she said softly. “You have a lot of rage in you.”

“Yeah, Archie’s going to give me some pills for that,” Belle said wearily, putting a hand to her forehead. 

Tink nodded slowly. “Tell him not to skimp on the prescription dose.”

 

* * *

 

 

Neal leaned against the wall, wearing his customary _I’m-so-unimpressed-with-Life_ expression, as he waited for Hook. Emma had disappeared off somewhere with Ruby, which had given Neal the opportunity to text Hook and demand he come back out, so they could discuss the fact that Emma was coming onto him. _Strong._

He couldn’t help, but feel a little smug (okay, a _lot_ smug) about the affair. Two. Years. Two years of being there for her, letting her dangle him from her fingers, puppeteering him and Hook, pitting them against each other by manipulating their feelings—making him admit he _had_ feelings, which was an uncomfortable enough experience for Neal, to begin with. And just when he agreed to stick to straight bromance… _THAT’S_ when she decided she wanted to give it another shot? Where was she two years ago? Where was she one year ago? Where was she _last month?_ Hook was right: she only wanted what she couldn’t have.

And that was why he needed Hook right now: to help Neal remember that he was what Emma could NOT have. Nope. She had her chance; she gave it up; now it was _her_ turn to pine after _him._ See how well _she_ liked it.

But Hook really needed to hurry up. 

“Hey!” Hook came jogging up to him, looking concerned. “What is it? What happened?”

Neal looked him dead in the eye. “It’s Emma.”

Hook’s eyes grew wide. “Is she okay? What happened?”

“She’s sending me signals.”

Hook instantly relaxed, his face taking on an annoyed expression. “Goddamn it, Neal, you almost gave me a bloody heart attack.”

“Oh, come on,” Neal scoffed. “That’s an overreaction.”

“Yeah, well, if you say—“ Hook whipped out his phone, and read out Neal’s text—“ _we need to talk,_ how do you _think_ I’m going to react? Christ, I thought you were breaking up with me.”

Neal raised an eyebrow. “I feel like you’ve gotten this text before.”

“Every time Ruby gets upset, I get that little…” Hook trailed off, shaking his head. “Look, in my experience, those four little words are the harbingers of doom. Just don’t _scare_ me like that.”

“Sorry, bro.”

“It’s all right,” Hook said, flourishing his hand graciously. “Now, what is this nonsense about Emma sending you signals?”

Neal frowned. “Nonsense? Really?”

Hook smiled apologetically, placing a comforting hand on Neal’s shoulder. “Look… I don’t know how to tell you this, mate, but… she was being _quite_ friendly with me earlier, if you get my drift.”

“Yeah, I got your drift, I’m just…“ Neal looked at him, almost pityingly. “You didn’t think she was _actually_ flirting with you, did you?”

Hook blinked a few times. “Well, I _…_ ” 

It was  Neal’s turn to smile apologetically and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You must be really embarrassed right now,” he said softly.

“But… but why was she doing all that—?“ Hook waved his arms around—“with the—?“ he batted his eyes—“and the—?“ he mimed twirling his hair.

“She was trying to make me jealous,” Neal explained patiently. “She was just using you.”

Hook’s eyes widened, and he whirled around, looking for Emma. “I feel so cheap and violated!” he said furiously. “How _dare_ she—?”

“No, no,” Neal frowned, holding up a hand. “You’re not going to make this about you.”

Hook turned back to give him an exasperated look. “Do you think I _want_ to make this about me?”

“Frankly, yes. You’re a drama queen.” Neal shook his head as Hook opened his mouth to argue. “Don’t deny it.”

“Neal, I am not—“

“Bro. Come on.”

Hook glared at him, matching his death stare against Neal’s skeptical one: a silent battle of wills commenced, during which both tried to intimidate the other into submission. Of course, Neal won because when it came to stare-downs, Neal was a master: the man could go head-to-head with _Regina._ Hook really didn’t have a chance, and after a minute, he accepted his defeat.

 “All right, tell me what happened,” he said grudgingly. 

“ _Dude!_ ” Neal said in an urgent whisper. “Keep your voice down!”

Hook rolled his eyes, and said in an exaggerated whisper, “All right, tell me what happened _quietly._ I’d hate for all the invisible people around us to eavesdrop!”

Neal fought the urge to sass him back, knowing he was running low on time before the ceremony started. “Okay, so it started this morning at the apartment. Literally, the first thing she  says to me is, ‘Oh my God, you look hot’—“

“To _you?_ ”

Neal gave him a pained look. 

“Sorry, mate. Continue.”

“Anyway, I just kind of shrugged a ‘thanks’ at her, ’cause she said all that stuff about how she’s _not_ —“

“— _looking for a relationship,_ ’” Hook joined in with him, both of them rolling their eyes.

“But she kept looking at me in this really weird way, “ Neal went on. “And then she told me _again_ that I looked good—“

“ _Twice_?”

“Okay, can I finish my story please?” he snapped. “Jesus, man.”

“Sorry.”

Neal exhaled impatiently. “ _Anyway…_ so I gave her a ‘thanks, bro’, so she knows I’m keeping to what we all agreed, I’m not pressuring her or anything, I’m staying out of it…” He took a breath. “And then she gives me a bro-punch.”

Hook raised his eyebrows. “She gave you a _bro-punch_?”

Neal nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”

Hook frowned thoughtfully, digesting this information. “And then what happened?”

“Not a lot,” he shrugged. “She was just acting all nervous and awkward after that. And then in the car, she did pretty much the same thing.” He flopped a hand. “And you were there for the rest.”

“A bro-punch,” Hook said, rubbing his chin. “Clearly a nervous gesture on her part, but still a voluntary move to make physical contact with you—which is, as we know, also a flirting mechanism.” He peered at Neal, raising an eyebrow. “You said she was acting nervous and awkward?”

“Very.”

“Was there—“ Hook waved his hand—“giggling?”

Neal nodded slowly. “There might have been giggling.”

“Was there a girlish quality to her voice? A lilt, perhaps?”

“There was a definite lilt,” he said firmly.

“Okay,” Hook said, frowning deeply in concentration. “Tell me about the car ride.”

“Well, we had to sit in the back together, so it was pretty cramped, and she squished herself up to the other side to keep this space between us. But then David made this really sharp turn, and she crashed into me, so—“

“Did she pull away quickly, or did she linger?”

“She shot back pretty fast,” Neal said, watching him closely. Hook nodded.

“Mmm… you see?” He pointed a finger at Neal. “Nervous. That’s a good sign.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You mean it’s better than if she lingered?”

“Well, if she lingered, you might say she’s dropping signals to have her way with you later tonight. And see, that would be an _intentional_ signal, a passing fancy. But the _unintentional_ signal of being nervous…” Hook spread his arms, letting the meaning dangle in the air.

Neal almost started to smile until he remembered why he had called Hook out there in the first place. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said.“You’re not supposed to be encouraging me, you’re supposed to be telling me to stay away from her!”

Hook looked baffled. “Why the bloody hell would I do that?”

“Because!” Neal said frustratedly. “Because I can’t just give in after she lead me on for two years! I don’t have to explain it to you, she did the same thing to you!”

“Yes, but if she wants you now—“ Hook shook his head—“I mean, isn’t this what you wanted?”

Neal opened his mouth, ready to deliver a lecture on why he refused to go crawling back to Emma, when he saw Regina enter the front hall, Robin and Henry trailing in her wake. A small tuft of dark hair peeked out from behind Robin, presumably Roland. Regina caught his eye, turned to say something to Robin, and walked over to them with a polite smile on her face.

“Neal,” she greeted him, inclining her head. She glanced over at Hook, a veil of disdain descending on her features. “You.”

“Regina,” Hook said politely, averting his eyes. Neal frowned at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Being considerate.” Hook focused on the ceiling. “Regina is an absolute vision, and if I so much as glance at her, I’m going to end up saying things that I… really shouldn’t be saying in a church.”

Regina raised her eyebrows. “Well, there you have it, Neal,” she said, smiling. “Who says you can’t teach an old slut new tricks?”

“I’d love to see what kind of tricks you can teach me—damn it!” Hook made a frustrated noise. “Sorry.”

“Oh, there you are, Hook, I didn’t see you there. For a minute, there was a civilized human being in the way.” Regina gave him a disparaging look before turning back to Neal. “I just wanted to say hello, and tell you that I took away Henry’s computer.” She smiled, looking rather proud of herself. “And assigned him a two-thousand word disciplinary essay to be written in cursive.”

“ _Two thousand?_ ” Neal’s eyebrows shot up. “Shit. I’d hate to be on your bad side.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing your bad side—DAMN IT!”

“I’m going to ignore that,” Regina sighed as Hook cursed under his breath. “As I try to do with your general existence.”

“You bringing anything to the reception?” Neal asked, changing the subject hastily. “I know David’s bringing baklava.”

“Cookies,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “Anyways, I should go.” Neal caught a mischievous glint in her eye. “I want a good seat, so I can see the mister-of-honor in all his glory.” 

“Don’t we all?” Neal grinned. 

Regina chuckled as she turned away and walked back to Robin and the boys. Neal shook his head, marveling at the fact that he had managed to cultivate a friendship with _Regina Mills,_ of all people. 

“This is going to be a bloody nightmare,” Hook said.

“I know,” Neal grimaced. He was his father’s best man: he was going to have to stand up there in front of the whole of Storybrooke… and stay _awake_ during the ceremony. Neal had been invited to several weddings, back when he lived in New York: he hadn’t stayed awake during any of them. The only wedding he’d ever imagined staying awake during was his own—and even that was a stretch. 

Hook cleared his throat. “We should go.”

“We should,” Neal agreed, not moving.

They stood there, both reflecting on the fact that they really should be going and that they really didn’t feel like it. 

“You know,” Hook said suddenly. “It occurs to me that if Regina gets a good enough seat, I can stare at her during the whole ceremony without having to worry about saying anything offensive.”

Neal looked at him incredulously. “Ruby’s going to be in the _front row,_ ” he said. “You think she’s going to be very happy about you ogling Regina right in front of her?

Hook winked. “I have ways of making it up to her.”

“Please don’t elaborate on that.”

Hook sighed dramatically as they started walking. “Oh, _Neal._ ”

“Oh, _Killy._ ”

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to call me that anymore.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to anything like that.”

“You should. ’Cause you _did._ ”

“Please. Why would I give up a gem like ‘Killy’?”

“Hey, Neal?”

“Hmm?”

“I hate you.”

 


	21. Chapter 21

Regina crossed her legs and sat back against the wooden pew, grimacing as she prepared herself for what was going to be a nauseatingly dull hour and a half. Robin sat next to her, already struggling to keep a squirming Roland still. Henry sat on her other side, side-eyeing Roland with a look of disgust on his face. Regina nudged him.

“Henry,” she muttered warningly.

“I hate that kid, Mom.”

Regina kept her mouth closed tightly so she didn’t voice her agreement. It wasn’t that she disliked children; quite the opposite, actually. But Roland…? She tried to love him, for Robin’s sake, but he was a most obnoxious child. He was always a mess, always shrieking and running about on his stumpy little legs, bursting into tears at random… Henry had _never_ given her so much trouble.

Although he was giving her plenty of trouble _now._ He’s spent the entire car ride, moaning about the essay she’d set him and how he _needed_ his computer and why it wasn’t _fair_ and she didn’t even _care_ that he already had a million things to do for school and why did she have to take everything so _seriously_?

She stroked his hair. “Just behave yourself, Henry.”

He sighed, turning his eyes forward. 

The music started, Archie coaxing the traditional wedding march out of the old organ. Everyone stood up, turning to watch the bridesmaids and groomsmen come down the aisle: first Aurora, one hand on her stomach, with her husband, Phillip; then Ariel with her husband (?), Eric; lastly Tinker Bell, accompanied by Will Scarlet, who already looked drunk off his ass. 

Regina was unable to keep the smirk off her face, knowing that Hook would be next to walk down the aisle as _the mister-of-honor._ This was going to be deliciously humiliating for him. She leaned forward slightly, eager to see him embarrass himself before the entire town.

He was standing at the back, waiting for his cue; from the front, Tink gave him a thumbs-up. Instantly, he broke into a brilliant smile, and started down the aisle like it was a runway. Regina rolled her eyes: the sheer vanity of that man… 

He tossed out winks and secret smiles, making the women who had never endured the horror of actually _speaking_ to him, swoon; those who had, tossed their heads exasperatedly and tried to ignore him. When he passed by Regina, he beamed at her, and paused to whisper, “Love the dress, darling.”

“Ugh.”

He took his place at the front, reveling in all the attention. Regina felt rather disappointed; she’d been hoping to see his spirit crushed to dust and scattered by the wind. 

Neal, standing beside his father, already looked half-asleep, but seemed to wake up a little when Hook arrived. Regina raised an eyebrow as she watched the two men exchange a glance, apparently having a silent conversation that must have been highly amusing because they both had to turn their heads to hide their smiles. She smiled ruefully. How very mature of them, to—

She snorted as Belle appeared, taking up most of the aisle in the most outlandishly puffy wedding dress she’d ever laid eyes on. Suddenly, she understood the secret laughter between Hook and Neal.

Regina made sure to keep her eyes down when Belle passed them, her fingers tightly clutching Henry’s shoulder to remind him to behave and _not to laugh_. She chanced a glance when the sound of footsteps stopped, as Belle apparently reached the end of the aisle: she was a grown woman, after all, she could keep from— _nope_. Regina turned her head away to fight past the laughter threatening to break out of her throat. Robin looked down at her, also biting back a smile as he brought a finger to his lips and mouthed, _Shh._ Regina took a minute to compose herself, then looked back to the front, carefully averting her eyes from Belle as much as possible.

 _Of_ course, Rumple looked at her as if she were the most beautiful creature on earth, smiling widely as she beamed back. Well, at least they were happy, Regina thought, shrugging. One of the most ridiculous couples she knew, but as long as they enjoyed being ridiculous with each other, who was she to judge?

Her eyes glazed over as the minister began droning out the speech to officiate the vow renewal. Christ, this was dull. Why was she even here? It wasn’t like she was particularly good friends with Belle; and she and Rumple had a complicated relationship at best. It would have been different in Snow and David were having a vow renewal; at least _them_ , she considered to be her friends. Surely it would have been just as dull, but there would have been a conceivable reason for being there. But here, it seemed like she was torturing herself with maddening boredom simply because she nothing better to do that morning. 

Still, the reception would be nice, she thought as Belle started reading out her vows. There would be a nice dinner, and wine, and music. Maybe Robin would take her out for a spin on the dance floor, or they could enjoy watching other people—meaning, Hook and Ruby—make drunken fools of themselves. 

Rumple cleared his throat to deliver his vows, slightly pink. Regina felt a smirk curl around her lips. Well, if Hook wasn’t going to cooperate and be humiliated to death, at least she could watch Rumple be. She glanced back at Hook and Neal, losing interest in Rumple’s speech almost immediately: Neal was swaying dangerously, his eyes slowly closing and flickering open every so often; Hook was watching Rumple intently, and he seemed to be mouthing along with Rumple’s vows. Regina raised an eyebrow: what a strange specimen he was.

“…even in my darkest hour. You seem to have a talent for loving me. And I mean that in more ways than one. Parentheses, wink at crowd as they laugh, end parentheses,” Rumple read from his notecard, his brow furrowed. Hook closed his eyes exasperatedly, visibly clenching his teeth.

“I’m guessing Hook helped him write those,” Robin muttered, sounding amused.

“That _would_ explain why the word ‘bloody’ was in there so many times,” Regina mused.

Belle seemed to forgive Rumple for the offensive joke, though the glare she shot Hook was almost worthy of Regina’s approval. Mercifully, the ceremony wrapped up soon after, and the church broke into loud applause—though whether it was to congratulate the couple or merely from pure relief that the ceremony was over, was unclear.

Rumple and Belle were smiling brilliantly as they made their way down the aisle, miraculously not bowling over the audience as Belle’s skirts flew behind her.

“Now what?” Henry asked as he continued to disinterestedly beat his hands together. 

“I think a bunch of us are going for lunch at Granny’s, and then around four we go to the house for cocktail hour— _you_ are not allowed to partake—and then the reception’s right after.” Regina gathered her scarf around her neck while Robin tried to persuade Roland into his arms. 

Everyone started shuffling out of the pews, thoroughly disenchanted as they started tripping over each other. Regina and her boys hung back, waiting for the walkway to get less congested, especially since they were sitting near the front. Snow, David, and Emma seemed to have the same idea a few aisles ahead of them; and Neal and Hook were already making their way toward them, probably to discuss how mind-numbingly dull the ceremony had been.

Ruby popped up out of nowhere, and shot a strange smile at Emma as she lead Hook away, Granny trailing at their heels with a disgruntled look. Emma smirked, and exchanged a glance with Regina over Ruby. Regina wasn’t quite sure why they were smirking, but any chance to show disdain for the slutty waitress was fine by her. 

Henry climbed over the pews, disregarding her scolding, _“Henry!_ ”, to greet Neal. Regina _tsk_ ed at him, and turned to Robin—only to find that he too was climbing over the pews, Roland scampering over after him.

“What are you doing?” she frowned.

Robin looked back at her innocently. “I just wanted to say hi to Emma and Neal.”

“We’re going to lunch in ten minutes. Do you really have to treat the church like a jungle gym right now?”

“Yes,” he said seriously. “I must.”

“Roland is being more mature than you right now. I hope you realize that.”

“Roland is following in his father’s footsteps,” Robin corrected. “We are equally mature.”

“Hey, Regina!” Neal called, _also_ climbing over the pews (what was _wrong_ with everyone today?). “Guess what Henry just asked me?”

“Dad!” Henry yelped, a note of panic in his voice. “ _Please!_ ”

“He asked me if I thought I could talk you out of making him write that essay!” Neal said, fighting Henry’s desperate attempts to pull him back.

“Oh, _really?”_ Regina smiled dangerously at Henry. “Perhaps I _will_ require it in Spanish, after all.”

Neal climbed over the last few pews, merely nodding at Emma as he passed her, and met Robin halfway. “’S’up, bro?” he greeted him, balancing with his feet on two different pews.

“Neal,” Robin nodded with a smile, and they continued in opposite directions. Robin hopped down to talk to Emma, while Neal came to a stop in front of Regina, grinning.

“So,” he said, sitting on the edge of the pew in front of her. “What did you think?”

“Time moved faster when Storybrooke was frozen for twenty-eight years,” she said wryly. 

Neal laughed, making Regina smile. It never ceased to amaze her how well they clicked; it was like they’d been good friends for years, instead of mere acquaintances up until a few weeks ago. 

“You guys coming to lunch?” he asked, jutting his head toward Robin.

“Robin wants to, so I said I’d go,” she shrugged.

“Sit with us, then? I don’t want to get stuck next to Emma,” he explained in a lowered voice. Regina raised an eyebrow.

“Why is that?”

He shrugged. “Let’s just say, things are a little awkward right now, I don’t want to go into it. But you’ll sit with us, yeah?”

“Uh… sure.” Regina shook her head, puzzled. She couldn’t keep up with the cloud of drama that seemed to cling to Emma; it was exhausting trying to remember all the gossip. She didn’t know why Neal was suddenly averse to her company—perhaps she’d ask Robin later, he was better at keeping tabs on the social scene. 

She looked over at him: he seemed to be in a deep conversation with Emma, frowning and nodding slowly. Regina could practically see the gears and wheels in his head turning as he digested whatever gossip Emma was dispensing. As kind and sweet as he was, Robin was a compulsive busybody. No doubt whatever he was hearing right now, Regina would be hearing about later.

“Wonderful,” she muttered to herself, not looking forward to the unnecessarily detailed report Robin would be giving her. “Simply wonderful.”

 

* * *

 

It was a comfortable noisy: the sound of forks scraping against plates, glasses clinking, voices engaged in conversation, frequent ripples of laughter. There wasn’t a lot of room to move around in the diner, as nearly every seat was taken, but David had managed to snag one of the big tables, as his group was the closest thing to an extended family Rumple or Belle had. 

Rumple and Belle (who had thankfully changed into a cocktail dress) had crowded their chairs at one end, while David and Snow mimicked them on the other side. Neal sat next to his father, with Regina and Robin next him, Roland balancing on Robin’s knee. The seat next to Belle was still vacant and waiting for Hook, but Emma sat next to it, and Henry on her other side. 

“It was a beautiful ceremony, Rumple,” Snow smiled, picking up her menu. “Your vows were…” Her smile faded. “Clearly inspired.”

“Yes, by _me,_ ” Hook said loudly, pulling out his chair. Rumple raised his eyes to the ceiling at his entrance, but Hook seemed not to notice. He interestedly peered at a menu before tossing it down and looking around at them all, beaming.

“Well?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “What did we think of Rumple’s vows, then? Beautifully written? Poetic? _Romantic?_ ”

Neal gasped in mock surprise, pointing a finger at him. “You wrote them, didn’t you?” he breathed.

The sarcasm was not lost on Hook, and his smile fell flat. “But they were good, weren’t they?”

“They were _beautiful_ ,” Emma said, smiling brightly at him. David frowned as he watched his daughter dance her fingers up the pirate’s arm. He nudged Snow, who was also watching with narrowed eyes.

“When did that start happening again?” he muttered.

“I don’t know,” she said through pursed lips. “I don’t like it.”

To David’s surprise, Hook reached over and gently tugged Emma’s hand off him. “Keep your hands to yourself, love. There are children present.”

Neal choked on the sip of water he had taken, ducking down as he coughed to clear his throat. He emerged, obviously fighting a smile, which he tried to hide behind his fist. 

Emma looked between the two of them, an offended expression souring her features. 

David felt an elbow near his ribs, and leaned closer so Snow could whisper in his ear, “I’m confused.”

“Yeah, me, too.” _Hook_ rejecting a woman’s advances? Wasn’t that one of the signs of the Apocalypse?

Henry cleared his throat, as if to remind Emma he was sitting right next to her and could she please not flirt in front of him? Emma turned her head slowly, her gaze lingering between the two of them before dragging her eyes to the menu. 

David was about to shrug it off as whatever weird drama was going on between Hook, Neal, and Emma _this_ week when he caught Robin looking at Emma with pity in his eyes. David frowned, looking between Emma and Robin. _Don’t tell me there’s_ Robin _drama, too,_ he thought with a feeling of dread settling in his stomach.

Henry looked up suddenly, his eyes seeing someone past David’s head. David half-turned in his seat to follow his gaze: Ruby, coming toward them, smiling widely.

 _Oh, shit,_ he thought, remembering Neal telling them about the apparently huge crush Henry had on Ruby. That, coupled with the fact that she was dating Hook—the man Henry considered to be his nemesis—was going to make this uncomfortable.

“Henry,” he began in a low voice, reaching out to touch his shoulder; but Henry shrugged away, keeping his eyes down as he stood up.

“I’m going to go say hi to Dr. Whale,” he mumbled. Emma looked up at him concernedly.

“You all right, kid?” she asked.

“Fine, just… I’m going to go.” He left the table just as Ruby reached them, ducking around her as she opened her mouth. She watched him go, her eyebrows turning up in worry; and turned back around, jutting her thumb behind her.

“What’s wrong with Henry?”

David didn’t need the nudge from Snow to remind him not to say anything, although that second elbow in the ribs reminded him of yet _another_ tension Ruby’s presence would bring: she and Snow were still in the midst of their own personal Cold War.

“He’s fine, he does that,” Regina said flatly. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, I’m sure you haven’t got much room in there, anyway.”

“Oi!” Hook said, affronted. “Let’s keep it civil, ladies. This is a _happy_ day,” he added, giving Belle a winning smile; Belle stared at him.

“I’m still mad at you,” she said flatly. Hook dropped his smile.

“‘Course you are,” he said irritably. 

David rubbed his eyes, feeling the familiar wave of panic that rose up in him every time the family gathered together. So many conflicts, so many arguments threatening to explode…He’d been less anxious facing a dragon or death from dreamshade than facing family gatherings. 

“Can we all just…?” He let his sentence trail off, motioning with his hands for everyone to stay quiet. It seemed to work, because Hook turned away from Belle; and Belle went back to chatting with Rumple. David breathed out in relief: maybe he would be able to keep everyone in line today, after all. 

Ruby scooted herself past David’s chair, nearly tripping over Henry’s empty one on her way over to her boyfriend. Hook leaned over, tapping Emma on the shoulder.

“Do us a favor, love, budge over,” he said. Emma stared at him for a moment, then looked up at Ruby. Ruby smiled a threatening smile, her hand tracing circles on Hook’s arm. Snow breathed in sharply, her fists clenching tightly enough to turn her knuckles white.

Emma scoffed and let out a derisive laugh, shaking her head as she scooted over and allowed Ruby to take her seat. Ruby sat down immediately leaning across the table to talk to Neal about what a pain in the ass Hook had been earlier that morning about his tie.

David watched Emma as Emma looked on with something close to jealousy in her eyes, flinching at their laughter. Even Belle and Rumple seemed to be joining in, Rumple being careful to cough any time Hook said something amusing. Robin and Regina were having a private conversation of their own, exchanging wry smiles and _shh!_ ing gestures. 

“Emma,” David said quietly. She didn’t answer; just continued glaring as Neal laughed at Belle’s quip. David tried again, placing his hand on hers. “ _Emma._ ”

She jumped, whirling her head to look at him. “What?”

“Are you okay?”

“You seem a little off,” Snow said, leaning forward concernedly. 

Emma plastered a smile on her face. “I’m fine,” she said, echoing Henry. 

Her tone of voice made it clear that she wasn’t going to talk about it, no matter how many concerned looks or sympathetic smiles they sent her way. David exchanged a look with Snow, but sat back, sighing in defeat. Emma would come around eventually; pushing her now would only make her retreat further. And besides, he was too hungry to deal with this right now, he would _kill_ for one of Granny’s turkey sandwiches. 

“It’s all right,” Snow said softly, reading his thoughts. “I’ll talk to her tonight. We’ll eat too much ice cream, talk about feelings, everything will be fine.”

“Why do women have to eat ice cream when they’re upset?” David mused, frowning at a menu. “Is that a rule?”

“Well, because then you can be upset about gaining weight from the ice cream instead of upset about what made you eat the ice cream in the first place,” Snow shrugged. “At least, that’s why I do it.”

David glanced up, preparing one of his dad jokes in an effort to cheer Emma up, when he caught sight of Robin offering Emma a comforting smile; Regina was also smiling, though as if she wasn’t sure if she looked properly sympathetic. Emma nodded a “thanks” at them, and went back to her menu.

So, clearly Robin knew whatever was going on with her; and now Regina knew, too. David anxiously shifted in his seat. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like not knowing why his daughter was upset. He didn’t like watching his grandson skulk off to be miserable on his own. He didn’t like seeing Regina be worried sick about Henry, or Robin trying to patch things up, or Neal avoiding Emma, or Snow fight with Ruby. Everything was getting _way_ too tense for his liking, and the panicked feeling was now swelling in his chest. David _hated_ conflict; he hated seeing people cut into each other, spitting negativity and anger and resentment. These stupid family gatherings seemed to be a breeding ground for that.

He shook his head, just praying for the day to go by quickly and without any more drama.

* * *

 

Henry weaved his way through the wooden chairs, turning sideways to avoid some as they pushed back. Dr. Whale was at the back, sitting with a few of his hospital friends, although his mind was definitely somewhere other than Nurse Marge’s maternity ward gossip. Henry knew _exactly_ where his mind was, because that was where his own mind was (he wasn’t thinking about the sickeningly sweet smile on Ruby’s face, because he didn’t care, it didn’t bother him, he didn’t even think about her like that anymore, okay?).

“Dr. Whale,” he said, announcing his presence. “Can I talk to you a second?”

Whale glanced at him warily, no doubt remembering the field day Henry’d had this morning.

“It’s important.”

Whale’s brow twitched as he read the seriousness in Henry’s expression, and nodded. “Excuse me,” he said to his group, then looked at Henry. “Lead the way.”

Henry let Whale follow him to a more secluded corner, squeezing his way between Leroy and Walter. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ruby taking a seat next to Hook, and his fists clenched. But he was fine. And he had other problems to worry about, anyway. 

“You’re nervous about later,” Whale said quietly, stating the obvious.

“A bit, yeah,” Henry said, pacing as much as he could in the small space. “It’s a little hard for me to breathe, I think I’m hyperventilating.”

“Deep slow breaths,” Whale advised, ever the doctor. “One at a time. Inhale…and exhale.”

Henry tried to follow his instructions, but his chest felt tighter with every breath. “This isn’t helping. We still have a pet zombie to deal with.” He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes darting wildly around. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t stop moving around, he just wanted everything to be over. 

“Just try to relax, okay? You’re not doing this by yourself, I can help you—“

“But it’s _my_ fault!” Henry said desperately. “What if bringing him back screws everything up? What if my moms start fighting again? What if he gets between my parents? What if they—?”

“Henry, _slow down,_ okay?” Whale took him by the shoulders, giving him a firm look. “This town has dealt with far worse than a nice guy rolling back into town. Is it going to take some adjusting? Sure. Is he going to terrorize us and put us all through hell? _No._ ” He dropped his hands and gave Henry a smile. “It’ll be fine.”

 

* * *

 

 

Emma moved her food around her plate, barely touching it. She couldn’t eat now. She was too angry. And miserable. And mostly angry, but also a little bit miserable, with a side of _fucking angry._

Everything seemed to be unraveling, slipping out of her control. This morning had been bad enough, and the ceremony _pure torture_ (although, that was really more because it was one of the dullest hours she’d ever spent—and she’d been in jail in fucking Arizona for eleven months). But now? Neal was ignoring her. Hook was rejecting her. Ruby was becoming part of the gang. When did it _end?_

This was _exactly_ what those silent-treatment weeks in October had been: Neal and Hook, banding against her, with Ruby palely imitating her role as the spunky girl in the trio. _Emma_ was supposed to be the spunky girl, not _Ruby._ And probably the worst thing was the added heartache of wanting Neal back, and him just shrugging her off. And now on top of that, the embarrassment of having told _Robin_ —of all people, Robin! Storybrooke’s most notorious gossip, and she’d told him! Of course, two minutes later, he turned around and told Regina, who was now silently judging her harsher than she’d ever been judged. _Plus_ her parents looking at her pityingly, because pity was almost as bad as rejection, in her opinion. 

The lunch hadn’t been nearly as awkward as it could have been, mostly because she’d kept her mouth shut. Belle seemed to forgive Hook at some point, because halfway through they were nudging each other and laughing at their peculiar inside jokes; Neal and Regina were making sarcastic observations of their surroundings, Hook being the object of most of their jokes. Ruby kept glancing over at her as she continuously repositioned her possessive arm around Hook, as though to reaffirm, _Mine. Not yours. MINE;_ but other than that, even _she_ was taking part in the conversation, randomly tossing out comebacks at Neal and Regina. 

“All right,” Rumple said, drawing her away from her self-pity-fueled thoughts.”We should probably get going. I could make some coffee when we get to the house, if anyone’s up for it?”

“No!” several voice said at once.

“I can’t join you right away, I have to go back and pick up my cookies,” Regina said, rummaging in her purse for her keys. 

“Well, me and David can just swing by,” Neal offered. “We have to go get his baklava anyway, right?”

“Yeah, Regina, it’s right on the way. We can stop by,” David agreed, pulling on his coat.

“No, you won’t be able to find them,” Regina said absently, still searching in her purse. “Robin, do you know what I did with my keys?”

“No,” Robin said, still trying to coax Roland into eating another bite of his sandwich. 

“Damn it!” Regina bit her lip anxiously, dumping out the contents of her purse. “I need those keys! They’ve got my _car_ keys, my _house_ keys—“

“They have to be in the diner somewhere,” Snow said reasonably. “I mean, you _drove_ here, so they have to be there somewhere.”

“Oh, really? I had no idea!” Regina snapped, throwing down her purse angrily. She squeezed her eyes shut, holding the sides of her head as she muttered to herself, trying to remember where she left the keys.

“Okay—you stay here and find _your_ keys. I’ve still got my copy,” Neal said, standing up. “I’ll go get your cookies, David will get his baklava, and by the time we come back, you’ll have found them.”

“No, you won’t be able to get them,” Regina said frustratedly. “They’re in my vault.”

“Awesome. I love your vault. It’s like the Bat Cave, only cooler.” Neal patted her shoulder. “Relax, okay?” 

Regina seemed to not hear him as she shoved her hands in her pockets, feeling for her keys. Emma kept her eyes fixed on Regina, flinching as Neal brushed past her on his way out with David. Beside her, Ruby and Hook were murmuring back and forth, every so often letting out a low laugh—one of _those_ laughs. Emma grimaced, feeling the little bit of lunch she’d eaten rise up in her throat.

“Come on, Regina,” she said, standing up. “Let’s check the bathroom, maybe you dropped them in there when you went to fix your make-up.”

“Maybe…” Regina frowned, still checking her pockets as she followed Emma to the bathrooms. 

Emma pushed open the door with more force than necessary, a side effect of her temper rising. She closed her eyes, fighting to control it in case she accidentally flared up against Regina and started an argument. That was the _last_ thing she needed right now. 

After taking a calming breath, she opened her eyes, casting her gaze around for any little glints of light reflecting off metal. “Here!” she said brightly, pointing to the sink on the far right. 

Regina breathed a sigh of relief as Emma turned around and triumphantly presented her with the keys. “Thank God,” she sighed, placing them carefully in her purse. 

“Well, God didn’t find your keys, I did,” Emma shrugged, a light smile playing on her face. Joking was good: it helped keep her mind off things. _Maybe I should try my hand at stand-up_ , she thought, reflecting on the ridiculous amount of emotional issues that still weighed on her mind. 

Regina gave her half a smile, apparently not thinking she was funny enough to earn a _full_ smile, and turned to leave. Her hand was just grasping the handle when Emma said, “Regina, wait.”

Regina turned, raising her eyebrows quizzically. “What?”

Emma knocked her fists together, biting her lip. It was so awkward, and Regina was probably going to look at her like she was a crazy person, but… she had no one else to talk to right now. “Do you think we could hang back for a minute? For some…” She closed, bracing herself for the laughter. “For some girl talk?”

“Girl talk?” Regina repeated dubiously. “Emma, I’m really not—“

“Please?”

Regina looked at her for a long time, then raised her gaze to ceiling and let out a heavy sigh. _“Fine,_ ” she said reluctantly, letting go of the handle. “Let’s—“ she waved her hand—“ _girl-talk._ ”

Emma leaned against the wall, folding her arms. “I, uh…” She looked at the floor, unable to meet Regina’s eyes. “I think I might have feelings for Neal.”

“Oh, Christ,” Regina muttered; Emma could _hear_ her rolling her eyes, and she looked up defensively.

“What?”

“What are you, _fourteen_?” Regina said derisively. “Don’t you ever get tired of this? Jesus Christ, Emma!”

“Hey!” she snapped. “I asked you for girl-talk, not a lecture!”

“This _is_ how I girl-talk.”

Emma rolled her eyes, scoffing. “I should have talked to Robin,” she muttered, folding her arms. 

“Actually, you should have. He’s better at this than I am.”

Emma glared at the floor. The truth was, she really didn’t want to talk to Robin. He’d been sympathetic in the church, immediately picking up on the fact that something was bothering her; two seconds later, everything was spilling out, and he was _so_ nice about it… But he was a guy. He just didn’t understand it, the way another woman would have.

 She couldn’t talk to her mom, because…talking about her love life? With her _mom?_ Okay, NO. 

Ruby was out of the question, for obvious reasons.

And that left Regina. Whose version of girl-talk was more like the motivational speech from hell.

“Emma…” Regina made an impatient noise, and took a few steps toward her. “You’re acting like a kid right now. And you can’t afford to do that, because you’ve got a kid of your own, and he’s struggling. You don’t have time to worry about which guy you think is cuter, or whether or not he _like_ likes you, or who’s _crushing_ on who. You had eighteen years to get that out of your system—it’s over.” Regina poked her in the shoulder. “Got it?”

“Yeah,” Emma muttered, barely audible.

“What was that?” Regina cupped her hand around her ear, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

“I said, _yeah_ ,” Emma repeated in a louder voice, dropping her arms. She knew Regina was right, but…damn it! Why did Regina have to be right?

Regina offered her a strained smile (probably the closest she could manage to comforting) as Emma followed her out of the bathroom and back to the table.

“That dress, though,” Regina said in a low voice as they maneuvered the maze of chairs and tables. “If that wasn’t the silliest—“

She froze as her eyes landed on Neal and David, stepping back into the diner. Emma raised an eyebrow, looking between Regina and the two men. “Something wrong?” 

Regina’s eyes were wider than she’d ever seen them; she raised a shaking finger, pointing at Neal. “My cookies,” she breathed, sounding petrified. “How did he get them?”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “I kind of feel like you’re overreacting.” She put a hand on Regina’s shoulder, shaking it slightly. “It’s okay. They’re only cookies.”

“No, no, you don’t understand!” Regina started hyperventilating. “He can’t have—I…I sealed it, I know I sealed it this morning. I’m _positive!_ ”

“Regina? Hey—“ Emma took her by the shoulders, leading her to an a empty chair. By this time, everyone else had looked over, frowning concernedly as they noticed Regina turning white as a sheet.

“What’s the matter?” Snow asked, coming over.

“You don’t look well at all, love,” Hook frowned.

“You want some water?” Ruby offered.

“I swear, I only ate one,” Neal said quickly, holding his hands up in surrender.

Regina gaped at him, her mouth falling open.”How?” she whispered, her voice sounding more high-pitched than usual. “How did you get through?”

“Get through what?” Neal frowned, coming closer. He handed the plate to Belle, sidestepping past Hook and Ruby to stand in front of Regina. “Jesus, Regina, I thought you got upset about the _keys_ , but this? This is getting a little ridiculous.” He looked over at David. “I think we’re talking ‘disorder’ at this point.”

“I am _not_ fucking around here, Neal!” Regina whisper-shouted through clenched teeth. “ _How did you get into my vault?_ ”

Neal stared at her for a moment before raising his eyebrows. “The _door,_ ” he said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. “What did you think, I just materialized in there? I used the _door._ ”

“But that’s _impossible._ ”

Neal narrowed his eyes. “Are you implying that I’m too stupid to be able to figure out a door? Because the ‘dumb hobo’ comments are starting to hurt.”

“It’s impossible because I put a blood seal around my vault,” Regina hissed. “The only way you’d be able to enter is if…”

Neal paled, his eyes widening almost more than Regina’s. Emma frowned, looking between the two of them. When did cookies and doors provoke such _drama?_

“Guys?” she asked, swiveling her head back and forth. “What’s going on? I’m lost.”

“Blood magic,” Neal breathed. “It’s… I… _”_

“The only person who could get past my blood seal is someone with _my_ blood,” Regina said, trembling. 

Emma’s eyebrows flew up. “So, you mean…” She whirled her head to stare at Neal. “You and Regina are related?”

“Must be,” he said, looking sick. 

“But _how?_ ” Emma asked breathlessly. “How is this even _possible?_ ”

“I don’t know, I…” Regina went rigid, her nails digging into the chair tight enough to turn her knuckles white. She looked up at Neal, her eyes widened in horror. “My mother…. Rumplestiltskin…”

Neal’s head whipped around. “Dad?” he croaked.

Rumple stared back, looking ready to faint. “Yeah?” he said, his voice cracking.

Regina’s bottom lip trembled as she opened her mouth. “…Dad?” she whispered.

Rumple looked at her with wide, petrified eyes. Emma waited, seeing his mouth open as he struggled to force his voice out: it came out high-pitched, cracking, breathless: “Yeah?”

 


	22. Chapter 22

 

“You _slut!_ ” Hook said for the fourth time since they had left the diner.

He was sitting in the back of Rumple and Belle’s car, both of them utterly silent as they drove back to the house for the reception. Somehow, between the stunned whispers and gasps, they had reached the agreement to go on with the day as planned; if nothing else, to allow the party to distract them all—particularly Neal and Regina—from the bombshell that had been dropped at Granny’s. Belle had suggested skipping cocktails, and instead taking the couple hours before the reception to talk, but Regina had shook her head instantly with a firm, _“No.”_ She needed alcohol, and she needed it _now._

Being the gentleman he was, Hook had offered her a sip from his flask. Regina had declined with a half-hearted quip about some contagious disease she’d get. Ruby immediately ducked under the counter and returned with a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.

“Here, guys,” she said quietly, handing the glasses to Neal and Regina. “Take your medicine.”

They were thorough patients: they took three shots each before they left the diner. Rumple had snagged one, too, but his face was still bloodless as they piled into the car and started driving back to the house.

Hook was, personally, delighted with this turn of events. Everything made sense now: why Neal didn’t find Regina incredibly sexy, as any normal person should; why the two of them had clicked so quickly, even though they were practically opposites; why there was always that strange tension between Regina and Rumple…

And of course, he also got a kick out of Rumple’s humiliation. He didn’t hate the man nearly as much as he used to, but he wasn’t going to pretend that he still didn’t smile maliciously at Rumple’s distress. 

Belle was a different story. She had been very quiet, even though she didn’t seem extremely upset: Hook had heard her telling Rumple that it was okay, that she knew he was with Cora _long_ before he met her, and there was nothing to apologize for. Hook honestly felt she meant every word, and so did Rumple; still, it was quite a lot to swallow, especially on a day that was supposed to be dedicated to their marriage. 

As they pulled up to house, Hook twisted in his seat, squinting through the window to watch David’s car drive in behind them, followed closely by Regina’s. “You better go, slut,” he said to Rumple. “They’ll need their drinks as soon as they get in the house.”

“Go on, Rumple,” Belle said, attempting to smile at him. “I’m right behind you.”

Rumple looked at her worriedly. “Belle, I’m sorry—“

“Hey,” she said gently, taking his hand. “It’s _fine._ Really. Just a bit of a shock.” She smiled weakly. “I just need a few minutes, okay?”

Rumple nodded, giving her hand a squeeze, before getting out of the car. Belle waited a few minutes, watching as he walked up to the door with Neal and Regina hurrying behind him. Hook waited for her to get out of the car, figuring he should stay as long as she needed him. 

“Need some help, love?” he asked after she’d held onto the door handle for a full minute.

“Yeah,” she said absently. 

He got out of the car, and opened her door, offering his hand to help her up. Belle slowly stood up, letting Hook close the door behind her. 

He peered down at her. “You sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” she sighed. “Just…” She flopped a hand. “Just.”

“Well, I’ve been told I give magical hugs,” he lied. “Need one?”

Belle stared off into space before she nodded slowly, and leaned her head against him. “Yep.”

He wrapped his good arm around her, thinking it would only depress her more if he accidentally stabbed her with the hook, and rested his chin on her head. “You’ll be fine,” he said reassuringly. “Just think of poor Regina, what _she_ has to go through. She just found out _Rumplestiltskin_ is her father.” He shuddered. “The horror.”

Belle gave an unwilling laugh. “Be nice.”

“I’m being very nice. I’m giving you a magical hug,” he said matter-of-factly. “And then I have to give _Neal_ a magical hug…and then Regina…I can think of a few other things I’d like to—“

“And the magic is gone,” Belle sighed, pulling away. She looked up at him, smiling fondly as she patted his arm. “You’re such a little man-whore.”

“That I am, love. That I am.”

Belle gave him a parting smile and started up the drive to the house, allowing him to hang back and wait for Ruby, who had pulled up moments after Robin. Hook turned, raising an eyebrow as he waited for her to finish checking her reflection in the mirror before getting out of the car and hurrying over to him as fast as her heels permitted. 

“You are _so_ vain,” he said as she came up to him, shaking his head. Ruby snorted derisively.

“You think I don’t see you check your reflection in your silverware?” she said as they headed toward the house. “Or the window?”

“I just… _hoped_ you didn’t.”

Ruby twisted her head around, frowning as she noted how Emma and Robin were lagging behind. “What is it with those two? What are they, girlfriends?”

Hook followed her gaze. “Maybe,” he mused, then shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, love. We should get inside, before everyone else arrives and there’s a line for the drinks.”

“I think you might be an alcoholic,” Ruby said as they quickened their pace.

Neal and Regina were sitting numbly at a table, not even seeing the streamers and banners hanging from the railings and across the walls. More and more people had started to filter in, livening up the place, but the two of them sat as if nothing else in the world existed. 

“I think I should go over there,” Hook muttered to Ruby. She nodded, handing him another two shots for Neal and Regina. Hook looked down at them, disappointed there wasn’t a third. “Oi,” he said softly, “how about a little liquid courage for Hook?”

“You do know how weird it is when you refer to yourself in third person, don’t you?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Besides, you can’t even carry a third one—you’ve got _one_ hand.”

He responded by opening his mouth, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Ruby scoffed, putting her hands on her hips.

“I am _not_ pouring a shot into your mouth. You’re already lazy enough, as it is.”

“Ruby…” he whined. 

“Go,” she said, giving him a light push. “Your friends need you.”

Hook grumbled to himself, waiting until he was hidden enough by the growing crowd to down both shots, and drop the glasses in a potted plant. Neal and Regina would have to deal with their problems _without_ alcohol, he decided. It simply wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism.

He pushed past a few more people before he could make his way to Neal and Regina’s table. “Well!” he said brightly, throwing an arm around each of them as he knelt down. “Who needs a magical hug?”

“I’d like a magical hug,” Neal said dully, raising his hand.

“If you try to hug me, I will rip out your heart and _feed it to you,_ ” Regina hissed.

Hook blinked, then slowly removed his arm from her shoulder. “Okay, then,” he said, wrapping it around Neal instead. “Just a magical hug for Neal.”

 After Neal had assured him he had been sufficiently hugged, Hook released him, ruffling his hair for good measure. He smiled when Neal made an annoyed sound and swatted his hand away; at least Neal was getting back to his old self. Hook looked around for a chair, swiping the one Archie had been sitting in when he stood up to get a glass of lemonade.

“So,” Hook said, scooting his chair between them. “I just stole this chair from Archie— I think that qualifies me enough to be a stand-in therapist, don’t you?”

“No,” they said together. Hook pretended not to hear them.

 “Excellent! I think so, too. So, come on, then—“ he waved his hand, prodding them to talk—“Dr. Jones is ready to listen.”

“Stop referring to yourself in third person!” Regina snapped.

“Okay,” Hook frowned thoughtfully, nodding. “Regina, you seem to be experiencing a lot of anger. Do you want to talk about that?”

She slammed her hands on the table. “Do you _want_ me to kill you?”

“I’m sorry, love, I stopped listening after, ‘Do you want me?’Because the answer is—“ he cleared his throat—“ _hell yes._ ”

“Hey,” Neal said tensely. “Don’t talk about my… _sister_ like that.”

“ _Don’t_ call me that.”

“Well, you _are!_ ” he flared up. “Whether you like it or not, Regina—“

“I like it _not._ ”

“—this is REAL.” Neal glared around the room, putting his head in his hand. “And it’s insane.”

“Excuse me, Neal,” Hook frowned, holding up his hand. “But I believe only one of us is qualified to make that assessment here.”

Neal closed his eyes, speaking through clenched teeth.“Hook—“

“Dr. Jones, actually—“

“— _shut up._ ”

Hook closed his mouth, lowering his eyes to the table. For a few minutes, they sat in silence: Neal and Regina glared in opposite direction, while Hook examined his rings.

“I’m sure Neal will be a great brother,” he remarked. “And Neal, Regina will be a… anyways, Neal will be a great brother.”

“I’m running out of graphically violent threats,” Regina said warningly. “Soon, I’m going to be forced to start _demonstrating_ them.”

Hook fell silent, tracing the table cloth pattern with his finger.

“You know, Regina,” he said quietly. “You’re luckier than you realize.”

“Am I?”she snarled.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “I’d give anything to find out I had another brother out there.”

Neal sucked in a breath; Regina turned her head to look at Hook slowly, narrowing her eyes to a glare. _“Oh…_ ” she breathed, pointing at him. “You did _not_ just play the dead-brother-card.”

Hook looked back at her, raising his eyebrows. “I’m just saying, you could be off a lot worse,” he said, shrugging. 

“Well, what do you _say_ to that?” Regina exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “I mean, _God_! Anything I say now is going to sound—!” She pounded the table. “Damn it, Hook!”

“Well, now you’ve got nothing to be miserable about!” he said brightly, feeling cocky enough to chuck her under the chin. Her eyes widened furiously, but he barely gave her enough time to react before he stood up, beaming down at them both. “I pronounce you— _cured!_ ”

“Doesn’t work like that, bro,” Neal called after him. Hook turned around, walking backwards for a moment, grinning.

“Oh, _Neal.”_

Neal smiled faintly. “Oh, _Killy.”_

 

* * *

 

 

By the time the reception started, everyone was buzzed enough that the “oh, my God, Neal and Regina are siblings” scandal could be put on hold as the best party since Halloween started up. 

Dinner was served as a buffet, for people to go and visit at their leisure between dancing and drinking. Belle had indeed booked the Lost Boys, who were now playing an upbeat version of the Turtles’ “Happy Together”.  The tables were scooted around the edge of the ballroom so people had room to dance as crazily as their level of drunkenness dictated. 

Emma hovered by the bar, sipping whatever fruity concoction David had ordered for her (it tasted vaguely _strawberry)._ She wasn’t quite drunk, but she was pleasantly “floaty”.  

“Emma!” Hook came staggering toward her, a wide grin on his face. His jacket had been discarded, and his tie was hanging loosely around his neck. He leaned against the counter for support, laughing at absolutely nothing.

“Hey, buddy,” she smiled, raising an eyebrow. “Doing all right?”

“Doing fan _tas_ tic!” he said loudly, swaying dangerously. “God, I _love_ weddings!”

Emma looked around at the crowd, her eyes finding Regina dancing with Robin (holding a drink in her other hand); Belle was giggling as Rumple tried to persuade her to come out onto floor and dance with him; Henry was in the corner, playing around on his phone ( _teenagers,_ she thought, rolling her eyes); and Neal was… She frowned. Where _was_ Neal?

“Where’s Neal?” she asked Hook. He swallowed the drink he’d just gulped, exhaling loudly as he slammed the glass down.

“ _Sorry?_ ” he said, leaning closer to hear her.

“I said, where’s Neal?” she repeated louder. 

“I don’t know! I love that beautiful bastard, where is he?” Hook swiveled his head around, beaming. “OI, NEAL!” he shouted. “WHERE ARE YOU?”

“Here,” a muffled voice said from Emma’s other side. They turned to look at Neal, who was slumped over the counter, an empty glass in his hand. 

“You don’t look well, mate!” Hook said delightedly. “C’mere, I want to give you a magical hug!”

“ _No,_ ” Neal said, firmly, but groggily. “No more magical hugs.”

“Let me hug you!” Hook staggered toward him holding out his arms, but Neal waved him off.

“Go away, I’m not drunk enough to deal with you right now.”

Hook made an impatient noise and whirled around to grin at Emma, still holding his arms out.  “What do you say, love?” He wiggled his eyebrows enticingly.  “Magical hug?”

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “All right, give me a magical hug.”

Gleefully, Hook wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug, laughing in her ear. “Oh, God, I’m _so_ drunk!” he breathed. “ _So_ drunk!”

“Yeah, I guess I’m paying you back for the Halloween party,” she said in a strained voice, trying to loosen his hold. “Okay, hon—you really got to let go—can’t breathe!”

Hook dropped his arms, leaning his head on her. “I’m sorry,” he said into her shoulder.

“You’re fine,” she laughed, patting his back. 

“I want to dance,” he said suddenly, lifting his head. “You want to dance?”

“Mmm—“ she clicked her teeth, shaking her head—“not right now. Maybe later.”

“But I want to _dance,”_ he insisted. “Neal, come dance!”

“Not dancing with you, bro,” Neal said, propping his head up with one hand to give Hook a crooked smile. “Not today.”

“Oh, come _on!_ ” Hook said, looking between the two of them. He began jumping up and down, like a child insisting his mother buy him candy. “Somebody dance with me!”

“Where’s Ruby?” Emma said, following his movement with her eyes. He stopped, pointing a finger at her.

“ _Ruby!_ ” he gasped. “Of _course!_ Ruby will dance with me! RUBY!” He turned around in a circle, casting his gaze around as he continued to shout. “RUBY LUCAS, COME DANCE WITH ME!”

He strode off in search of her, drunkenly stumbling through several dancing and non-dancing couples. Emma pulled out the stool next to Neal, smiling down at his head resting on the counter.

“Pretty good party,” she remarked. “Why are you sitting here all by your lonesome?”

“Headache,” he said in a muffled voice. “Still trying to grasp the concept that Regina’s my _sister._ ”

“Why don’t you just get drunk?” Emma suggested. “Seems to be working well enough for Regina.”

“Regina’s got Robin to babysit her,” he said, lifting his head to rest it on his folded elbows. “I don’t want to walk around drunk without supervision.”

Emma smiled at him, mimicking his pose as she bent over the counter. “I’ll babysit you,” she offered. “You took care of me at Halloween.”

“That’s nice, Em, but I’m just not in the party mood,” Neal said, closing his eyes. “I’m kind of just hoping this is all a dream, and the _real_ day is tomorrow.”

“But then you’d have to stay awake through that ceremony all over again,” she pointed out.

Neal gave an unwilling laugh. “Yeah, I s’pose.”

Emma looked at him for a moment, indecisively twitching her mouth to the side. “You want to come dance?” 

“Nope.” Neal smiled lazily. “I don’t dance, Emma. You know that.”

“Yeah, but I’m bored, aren’t you bored?” She sat up, tugging his arm. “Come on, Neal, let’s go dance.”

“I don’t want to dance,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “You know how I feel about public displays of emotion.”

Emma groaned, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You’re no fun,” she wheedled. “Please? _Please?_ ”

“You go dance,” he smiled, waving his hand. “I’ll be here.”

Emma blew out a breath, drumming her fingers on the counter. She could feel the words building up in the back of her throat, weighing on her tongue; she knew they were about to come tumbling out, whether she liked it or not.

“All right, here’s the situation, Neal,” she said, looking at her hands. “Recently, I, uh… I may or may not have…uh—“

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Neal said, slowly sitting up. “It’s okay. I know.”

She frowned at him. “How could you know? You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“I do, actually,” he told her, raising his eyebrows. Emma felt her stomach drop.

“You _do?_ ”

“Emma, come on,” he laughed. “You didn’t exactly make a secret out of it.”

“But—“ she looked at him helplessly, her heart thumping against her chest. “But I’ve been flirting with Hook all day! How could you _know?_ ”

Neal stared at her. “Em, that’s, like, middle-school-level tactics. Trying to make me jealous by flirting with another guy in front of me? I’m pretty sure I saw that exact technique applied in _Sabrina, the Teenage Witch._ ”

The only response she could come up with was, “That’s not middle school, that’s _high_ school.”

Neal looked at her with something close to pity. “That’s a valid point,” he said carefully.

Emma looked away and listlessly twisted the little umbrella floating in her drink. “So…how do you want to approach this?” she asked, focusing on the crackly pink paper.

“I think…” Neal tapped his fingers on the counter; she glanced over, watching his thoughtful frown deepen. “I think it would probably be best if we stuck with the ‘bro’ thing for now.”

Her heart dropped into her stomach. _Bro._ She was really starting to hate that word. 

“Okay,” she said, her voice sounding like it was million miles away. “Bros, then. That’s fine.” 

“I don’t want to just—“ Neal gestured vaguely—“ _jump right back into_ it. I mean, what if you wake up tomorrow morning, and you think the same thing about Hook?”

She slowly shredded the umbrella. “Right.”

“Emotions are really…” He grimaced. “They’re really messy, you know? And they’re confusing—sometimes they look like one thing, and they’re really something else.” Neal suddenly found his empty shot glass extremely interesting, looking away from her. “And you have a tendency to let yours cloud your judgment.”

Emma nodded silently. 

“I don’t want us to give this a go, and then realize it’s not going to work. I mean, _I_ don’t want to get my heart broken again, but…” Neal finally looked up at her. “Think what it would do to Henry.”

 _Henry._ Regina’s words came back to her in a flood, scolding her for being immature, how she couldn’t act like a kid when she _had_ a kid. “You’re right,” she said, nodding. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“Emma, it’s _fine,_ ” Neal said, putting his hand reassuringly on hers. “Let’s just… let’s give it some time, okay?”

“Okay,” she smiled, and drew her hand away as she got up. “I’m going to dance. I’ll see you later.”

She turned away quickly, trying to force Neal’s and Regina’s words to sink in. It helped that she knew they were _technically_ right, but she still couldn’t quite focus: not right now. Her head felt too dizzy and tingly, even though she wasn’t nearly drunk enough for it to be the effects of alcohol.

And maybe that was the problem: she wasn’t nearly drunk enough. She abandoned her strawberry crap drink for a shot off a tray one of the waiters offered her. She didn’t know _what_ she was drinking, she just knew she wanted more.

The more she drank, the more the music echoed and drummed in her head; the lights were shinier; the dancers funnier; the spinning, floating feeling stronger. Emma was aware there was something she was vaguely upset about, but she didn’t care much at the moment: she was too busy dancing and laughing at whatever it was that was so damn funny…

 

* * *

 

 

_Graham just texted me. He’s outside._

Henry frowned at Whale’s text, rubbing his thumb over his lips thoughtfully. This was weird: he wasn’t used to adults looking to him for instructions. After another moment of consideration, he typed back a reply.

_Let him in. He can mingle in with the crowd for a few minutes until I make the announcement._

_Okay._

Henry sat back in his seat, sliding his phone in his pocket. Oddly enough, he didn’t feel nervous. There was a weird tingling feeling crawling up his spine, and there was a buzzing sensation in his ear, but other than that, he just felt numb. Like everything was simply too close and real for him to actually process.

His chest burned faintly, and he realized he’d been holding his breath.

“Goddamn it, Henry,” he muttered to himself, taking in a few deep breaths. “Calm down. You can do this. You can do this. You can—I can’t do this. Oh, goddamn it, I can’t do this.”

He looked up, his eyes skimming the room to judge the level of sobriety at this point. He hoped he hadn’t left it too late: he wanted them to be _just drunk_ enough to soften the blow, but no more than that. 

His eyes found Snow and David in the crowd, laughing as they danced around the more vigorously dancing couples, jostling against each other; every so often, leaning in to say something to the other. 

Hook and Ruby _were_ one of the more vigorously dancing couples. Henry felt his fists clench involuntarily as he watched how close together they were, laughing uproariously in all their drunken glory. Ruby didn’t look _nearly_ as drunk as Hook, though—which actually made him feel worse, because that meant everything Ruby was doing, she was doing with a clear head and purpose. Henry hurriedly looked away before he was exposed to one of their infamous public make-out sessions.

Emma looked _spectacularly_ drunk, dancing her way randomly through the crowd, bumping against Rumple and Belle at one point. The two of them looked ecstatic: Henry would never admit it to anyone, not even if they used Chinese water-torture against him or threatened to have Hook adopt him, but it brought a tiny ( _tiny, minuscule, barely even there)_ smile to his face to see them so happy. Rumple was a dreadful dancer, and Belle couldn’t stop laughing to save her life, but it was obvious how ludicrously happy they were.

Closer to the edge of the crowd was Regina. She had a vacant smile on her face as she leaned her head against Robin’s shoulder, which startled him: he’d never seen Regina drunk, although he supposed it was justified after the explosive news about her real father… and brother. Henry hadn’t had time to emotionally react to that yet: he was still focusing on Graham. But he had no doubt that once with dust settled with that, he’d have time to hyperventilate over the fact that Regina was his step-great-grandmother, as well as his half-aunt, as well as his adopted mother, and who _knew_ what else at the rate things were going?

And then… Henry gulped, seeing a familiar curly head bobbing through the crowd: Graham. The lighting was too low and the music was too loud for anyone to really take notice, but at some point, the Lost Boys were going to take a break and give Henry a chance to take the microphone and…

Not for the first time that night, Henry wished he was old enough to drink. 

Earlier, he’d tried to wheedle the bartender into at least giving him one of the girly fruity drinks that David was so fond of, but Vince had flat out refused. Henry had had to content himself with sparkling grape juice. 

But even carbonated fruit juice couldn’t put off the inevitable. The guitarist struck the last notes of what had sounded suspiciously like Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” with a dramatic flourish, and everyone burst into applause. Henry raised his eyebrows: he hadn’t realized Storybrooke had so many Swifties. 

“Thank you, everybody!” the lead singer shouted into the microphone. “We’re going to take a quick break, but we’ll be back in a few! In the meantime, we’ve got some demos we’re going to play for you! Be sure to keep an eye out for our upcoming album: _Never Gonna Grow Up!_ Thank you!”

Henry stood up, his legs trembling as he pushed his way through the crowd to get to the microphone on stage. The numbness that had acted as a buffer between him and his anxiety was starting to wear off: he stumbled his way up the stairs, barely able to walk because of how his knees were knocking together. There was that horrible tingling feeling working its way through his skeletal system, turning his muscles to jelly. 

“H-hey, everybody,” he croaked into the microphone. The people of Storybrooke looked at him, still swaying in time to the background music. Henry drew in a shaky breath: this was eight grade speech class, all over again. Except a million, thousand times worse.

“I, uh… I just wanted to say congratulations to my grandfather and Belle—“ he gestured toward them, and everyone burst into applause. Rumple and Belle beamed, Rumple giving a ridiculous little bow that set off a round of laughter.

Henry smiled weakly. “So… yeah. Congratulations on getting married…again. And, uh—“ he swallowed, his mouth going dry as he caught Graham’s eye in the crowd—“uh…it’s a special day all around, I guess. Marriage is apparently a, uh… a big deal. And vow renewals are just as big because…“ he frantically searched his mind for a reason why vow renewals could possibly be so important, that could somehow segue-way into, _By the way, I brought Graham back from the dead._ “Because…”

“Because,” Dr. Whale’s voice said behind him. Henry whirled around to see him walking toward him, his hand reaching out to take the microphone. Henry gave it to him, a look of immeasurable gratitude in his eyes. Dr. Whale smiled at him almost imperceptibly before going on.

“Because they bring a marriage back to life,” Whale said. “At least, that’s the impression I get from Diane Keaton movies.”

He earned a laugh from the crowd, which brightened the smile on his face.

“Living in Storybrooke, I’ve seen a lot of insane things that would make _no_ sense to the scientific world,” he went on. “Things that shouldn’t be possible are every day occurrences. All of you have the privilege to live in a world where magic exists, and where it can accomplish _extraordinary_ things.” He took a deep breath. “Even bringing someone back from the dead.”

The crowd was silent. Henry felt his heart beating against his chest like it was going to burst out. Everyone was watching Whale and Henry with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Henry looked around for Graham, but he had disappeared from the crowd. His ears perked up at the sound of footsteps behind him.

“Graham?” he muttered, barely audible.

“I’m here,” was the whispered reply.

“I just want to reassure you all that nothing is wrong,” Whale’s voice boomed into the microphone. “What you’re about to see is a miracle. Someone we all knew and loved. Someone we cared about deeply, who was taken from us too soon. We all felt his loss… but we don’t have to anymore. Magic is a powerful thing, but it doesn’t always come with a price,” he added, looking at Rumple. “Sometimes, it’s just a gift.”

Slowly, he stepped back, and looked over at Graham, hiding in the shadows. Henry closed his eyes, hardly able to breath. This was it. It was happening. No more secrets. He cracked open his eyes just as Whale smiled, nodding encouragingly, and said: 

“Welcome back to Storybrooke, Sheriff.”

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

 

 

The first few minutes, everyone was completely silent. The Lost Boys’ original song, “Never Gonna Grow Up!”, still played in the background, doing nothing to loosen the tension.

 Graham stepped into the spotlight, smiling slightly, his hands behind his back. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Slowly, he closed it, and just met the stares of the crowd with anxious eyes. 

David tilted his head: the man was vaguely familiar, but he hadn’t know him well. He didn’t even remember going to the funeral. From the few memories he had, he knew the sheriff was a good man, and that many had been devastated when he died. But David hadn’t known him well enough to be devastated then, or overjoyed now: he was just confused.

Snow couldn’t remember how to speak. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before giving up, clamping a hand to her mouth as her eyes sparkled with tears. Graham had been a dear friend, one of the kindest people she ever knew. She had spent weeks crying after he died, and the pain had never gone away, not completely. Seeing him, standing there, alive and well…it felt too good to be true.

Ruby stared at him, her mouth falling open. She could feel the tears gathering in her eyes, pain washing over her so suddenly, her knees buckled. Every memory came flooding back: all those late nights spent playing darts and serving drinks; the morning coffee and light-hearted banter; watching him out of the corner of her eye when he brought little Henry to the diner for ice cream; the day Granny got the phone call that had sent Ruby to retreat into her room for days, huddled in the corner with crumpled tissues scattered on the floor beside her as she stared dully at her wall. She hadn’t even been able to go to the funeral. 

Rumple looked up at him with a small smile on his face. He had liked the sheriff well enough, which was amazing: back then, he hadn’t like anyone. But Graham had always had a kind word or a warm greeting for him. And while it was a bit of a shock, Rumple had seen far too many strange and impossible things in his time for this to be overwhelming. It was more of a pleasant surprise than anything.

Emma blinked rapidly, hardly daring to breathe as if it would make Graham fade away. She hadn’t known him nearly as well as the others in town, but she had known him enough to miss him desperately when he died. There had been a time when she thought…She subconsciously twisted the shoelace she always wore around her wrist, the shoelace she’d tugged out of his boot and stuffed in her pocket before anyone could accuse her of sentimentality.

Regina clung to Robin for dear life, her knuckles turning white. Her breath came in short little gasps, and she was frozen in terror. Guilt flooded her insides, turning her stomach, stealing the air from her lungs. If Robin hadn’t been there, she would have crumpled to the ground. 

Hook wasn’t even looking at the stage: his eyes were fixed on Ruby, who was barely able to stand up. There were tears in her eyes, and behind those, something else… Something familiar, far too familiar: the same something he saw in Emma’s eyes when she looked at Neal, the something that was always absent when she looked at him. _Not again,_ he thought with a sinking feeling in his stomach. _Please, not again._

Belle frowned. She didn’t recognize him at all. Who was this asshole crashing her reception, anyway?

 

* * *

 

 

Graham was the first one to break the silence. 

“I, uh…I know what you’re all thinking,” he said, leaning in to speak into the microphone. “And yes, my hair _is_ naturally curly.”

And that was all it took. The tension was shattered as everyone broke into laughter and applause. Graham grinned at everyone, batting his hand in modesty as the applause rose, people shouting his name amongst cheers and whistles. Snow came running toward him as he came down the steps, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

Henry breathed out a sigh of relief. He felt a million times lighter, the tight feeling in his chest having disappeared. He turned his head to look up at Whale. “Thanks,” he said. “For—“

Whale shrugged, waving his hand.  

Henry gave him half a smile before climbing down the stairs to walk around with Graham as he reintroduced himself to the town. 

“There you are, Henry!” Graham smiled over Snow’s shoulder when he caught up to him. Snow finally let go of him, laughing through her tears. David had come up behind Snow to shake Graham’s hand; while the two men were exchanging pleasantries, Snow turned to Henry.

“How did you do it?” she asked, her voice still shaky as she wiped away her remaining tears. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Long story,” Henry said nervously. “I just—“

Snow hugged him tightly. “I don’t care right now,” she said in his ear. “I don’t care. Thank you, Henry. Thank you.”

“Uh…sure,” he said, giving her an awkward smile as she released him. “Any time.”

“Welcome back, Sheriff!” Rumple said, making his way through the crowd. Belle trailed behind him, looking at Graham skeptically. Graham looked surprised when Rumple caught his hand and pulled him closer to clap him on the back. 

“Gold,” he nodded politely, then slid his eyes to the side to look at Belle. “And you must be Belle.”

“Fine, I’ll be Belle,” she shrugged, shaking his hand. “Who’re you?”

“I’ll explain later,” Rumple said, batting a dismissive hand. He turned to Graham, clapping his hands together. “So! Have you had a drink yet? We’ve got an open bar!”

“Uh—not yet, but I—“

“Excellent!” Rumple linked his elbow around his to lead him to the bar. “We’ll get you settled in with a nice margarita—Vince makes a mean margarita. Belle, do you want me to bring you back something?”

“One of the strawberry things,” she said immediately. “With the little umbrella.”

Henry jogged to keep up with them, weaving through the holes in the crowd, ducking under people’s outstretched arms. Rumple kept a steady flow of conversation on their way to the bar, but Henry could barely make any of it out. He only caught the tail end of it as they reached the counter, pulling out a couple stools. 

“…truly is the best suit I’ve ever owned, so if you ever need a tailor…that’s your guy.”

“Thanks, Gold. I’ll, uh… I’ll keep that in mind.”

Rumple grinned at him, then leaned against the counter, rapping it with his knuckles. “All right, Vince—give me another strawberry daiquiri for Belle, and Graham here will have one of your margaritas!”

Vince gave him a thumbs-up and set to work, sliding bottles and glasses around the counter. Henry was watching him crush ice when he caught sight of a familiar  head resting on the counter a few seats down.

“Dad?”

Neal looked up, wincing. “Hey, Henry,” he said, attempting a smile.

Henry came toward him, looking at him worriedly. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just a headache,” Neal said, rubbing his eyes. “Not been an easy day.”

Henry glanced at the half-empty bottle beside him. “Clearly.”

“Thanks, Vince,” Rumple said, balancing the daiquiri with both hands. He looked at Graham over his shoulder. “I’m going to go run this over to Belle. You stay here with Henry— _don’t_ let him convince you to buy him a daiquiri,” he added with a stern look at Henry.

Neal frowned, hitting him lightly in the shoulder. “Dude.”

“I thought it was a smoothie!”

“Oh, okay,” Neal said, rolling his eyes.

Graham looked over his glass at them, swallowing the sip he’d just taken. “You’re… Henry’s father, correct?” he asked, coming over tentatively. 

Neal raised his eyebrows. “Yeah…?”

“I’m Graham,” he grinned, holding out his hand.

Neal glanced over at Henry, as if for reassurance, before shaking Graham’s hand.”Neal,” he said, still looking at him warily. 

“Right, yeah!” Graham said enthusiastically, sliding into the seat next to him. “Henry’s told me so much about you.”

“Has he?” Neal said, subtly scooting his chair back.

“Your boy adores you,” Graham beamed. “It shows.”

Neal blinked a few times; Henry hastily looked down at the ground, avoiding his eyes.

Henry and Neal were both the … _reserved_ type, when it came to emotions; Graham clearly wasn’t. He said things that were meant to be understood, but never actually _said_. Because when you said things out loud, they just…well, they just… Henry shoved his hands in his pockets, looking for a loose thread or something to distract himself. It was too weird, he didn’t want to talk about—

“Incoming Ruby,” Neal said suddenly, making Henry’s head snap up.

There she was: pushing through the crowd, stumbling on her heels as she tried to weave her way through the mass of people. Her face was streaked with her mascara, with a watery smile that grew bigger as she got closer. Graham slowly stood up, his eyes wide.

“Ruby?” he breathed, breaking into an ear-splitting grin. “Ruby, I can’t believe— _whoa!”_

He let out a surprised laugh as Ruby flung her arms around his neck, half-laughing, half-crying. Henry fixed a bored expression on his face, successfully masking the ripple of anger and jealousy underneath (not that he was angry or jealous, because he didn’t even think about Ruby like that, she was just a friend who happened to be incredibly beautiful, but he didn’t even pay attention to that because he barely noticed because he didn’t think about her like that, okay?)

“Oh, my God, I missed you so much!” she said breathlessly, pulling away (though Henry’s eyes narrowed at her arms lingering around his neck). 

“It’s good to see you again,” Graham smiled. “You’ll keep my table open for me in the mornings again, yeah?”

Ruby nodded, beaming, before going in for another hug. Henry blew out a breath, rolling his eyes to the side. _Fan-_ fucking _-tastic,_ he thought bitterly. Hook was bad enough, but Graham was somehow worse. Maybe because he was so goddamn perfect, he felt guilty for hating him. But right now? Yeah, he kind of did.

 _“_ Oh, shit,” Neal muttered, seeing something over Henry’s head. He followed his line of vision, catching sight of Hook making his way through the crowd. He was walking slowly and deliberately, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed: _clearly_ unhappy. 

For the first time in his life, Henry didn’t feel the urge to slam his fist into Hook’s face.

 At the moment, they had a common enemy: Graham. The Ruby-thief. When Hook passed Henry, they gave each other an almost imperceptible nod. It was brief, but respectful; a silent affirmation of,  _I know we hate each other, but THIS guy…_

“Oh!” Graham said suddenly, noticing Hook over Ruby’s shoulder. “Who’s this?”

Ruby looked over at the approaching pirate.“Oh, him,” she said, turning a violent shade of pink. “Oh, he’s my… he’s my, uh…”

“Your ‘uh’?” Graham said teasingly. Henry rolled his eyes. _Fucking hilarious._

“Yeah, I’m her ‘uh’,” Hook deadpanned, coming to a stop in front of them. His eyes flickered to Ruby before settling maliciously on Graham. “I don’t know what you are.”

He seemed not to notice his hostility, smiling warmly as he held out his hand. “I’m Graham.”

Hook eyed his hand disdainfully, then slowly put out his left arm, offering Graham his hook. Graham’s smile faded as he looked at the hook, then slowly drew his eyes back up to the pirate.

“We, uh—“ he chuckled—“we appear to be at an impasse.”

“That we do,” Hook said through clenched teeth, not lowering his hook.

“Hook,” Ruby said warningly, _finally_ sliding her arm off Graham as she walked toward Hook. “ _Don’t_.“

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you _are,_ ” she hissed, slitting her eyes at him. “And you better stop.”

Henry leaned back to mutter in Neal’s ear. “I sense a disturbance in the Force.”

“A disturbance in the what? What are you talking about?”

Henry closed his eyes impatiently. “I think they’re going to break up again.”

Neal snorted. “You’re such a nerd, Henry.”

“ _Star Wars_ is not nerdy!” Henry whispered indignantly. 

“Can you stop acting like a child for two minutes?” Ruby spat, glaring at Hook. Henry and Neal looked between the two of them, watching it like a tennis match, as Hook’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Me, acting like child? _You’re_ the one acting like a bloody schoolgirl right now!” he retorted.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Ruby demanded. “Are you seriously getting angry because I’m happy to see him again? He was _dead,_ you ASSHAT!”

“Asshat?” Graham repeated confusedly. 

“So, what was I—just some consolation prize to replace _him_?” Hook shouted furiously.

“Well, why not?” she shot back. “That’s what _I_ was for _Emma!_ ”

“Oh, snap,” Neal muttered. Henry dropped into the seat beside him, watching wide-eyed as Hook and Ruby argued back and forth; Graham’s eyes flicked between the two of them worriedly, while Neal and Henry had a hushed commentary.

“This is intense.”

“I know.”

“Like, _really_ intense.”

“It’s like a fucking soap opera.”

“ _Henry._ ”

“What?”

“ _Language_ , dude.”

“I’m sorry,” Graham said, raising his voice over Hook and Ruby’s shouting match (which had started to attract onlookers by this point). “I hope I’m not getting in the middle of anything here, I just—“

“You’re not getting in the middle of anything,” Ruby said through clenched teeth, not taking her eyes off Hook. “There’s nothing to get in the middle of.”

“Is that a break-up I detect?” Henry whispered as Neal dug a tiny calendar out of his inside pocket. “Because that was a week, I think I win the pot.”

“Hang on…” Neal murmured, frowning at the various numbers and names scattered around the month of November. “Let’s see, they got back together on the ninth…”

“Oh, now there’s ‘nothing to get in the middle of’? Twenty minutes ago—“

“Twenty minutes ago, you weren’t acting like a jealous asshat!”

“That’s because, twenty minutes ago, you weren’t hanging all over another guy!”

“I don’t know, kiddo,” Neal said, rubbing his thumb thoughtful against his lips. “David said six days, you said seven…if they break up before eleven o’clock, David wins.”

“What time is it now?”

Neal checked his watch. “Ten-forty.”

“ _Shit!_ ”

“Henry.”

“ _Sorry._ ”

“I’m not doing anything wrong!” Ruby shouted. “I can’t _believe_ you’re acting like this!”

Graham opened his mouth to say something, but Henry reached over and put his hand on his shoulder. Graham looked at him quizzically, slightly shaking his head.

“What? What is it?”

“Listen…” Henry smiled awkwardly. “Uh, you got to stay out of it at this point. Those are the rules.”

“Rules?” Graham said incredulously. “What _are_ you talking about?”

“Can’t interfere, man,” Neal said. “You gotta let it happen on its own.”

“Let _what_ happen on its own?”

“The break-up,” Henry explained. “See…we’ve got this pool going…”

Graham raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“These two break up constantly,” Henry said, pointing between them as they shouted back and forth, waving their arms around wildly. “So we started this pool a while back, to take bets on how long it takes before they call it quits again.”

Graham looked horrified. “That’s despicable!”

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a Boy Scout,” Neal scoffed, going back to his calendar. Henry picked up his wrist to check his watch again.

“Okay, ten minutes, and I win,” he breathed, crossing his fingers. He already knew what he was going to spend his winnings on: there was a new X-Box 360 he’d been eyeing for a while, ever since his old one started acting funny. 

“Hey!” David came jogging up to Neal and Henry, looking concerned. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

“You’ve got ten minutes until Henry wins,” Neal said absently. 

David folded his arms, leaning one on each of their shoulders, as he watched the argument. “So, who started it this time?”

“I’d say, Hook,” Henry shrugged. “Where’s Grandma?”

“Oh—“ David batted a dismissive hand. “Emma needed some girl-talk or something, they’re hanging out in the bathroom. Oh, by the way, Robin took Regina home, so you’re riding back with us.”

“He took her home?” Henry turned around, looking at him anxiously. “Is she okay? What happened?”

“I think she’s just feeling a bit overwhelmed,” David said, not taking his eyes off the scene. “He’s going to stay with her tonight, so if you want to—“

“Yeah, I think I’ll stay with you guys tonight,” Henry said quickly. He’d been burned before. He would not be burned again.

“That’s it!” Ruby shrieked, stamping her foot. “I’ve had it! I can’t stand you anymore! We’re _done!_ ”

“Ruby, come on—“

“NO!” she screamed, covering her ears. “I MEAN IT, THIS TIME!”

Hook blinked rapidly. “Don’t, okay? We’re not—“

“ _DONE!”_

And with that, she shoved past him, sweeping the crowd to the side with her arms as she stormed away. Hook ran after her, a gesture that went unnoticed by David and Henry as they immediately grabbed Neal’s wrist to check the time.

“ _Yes!_ ”

“Henry, it _clearly_ says ten-fifty-nine. _I_ win.”

“Oh, please. The minute hand is _right on_ the twelve!”

“No, it’s on the tick before!”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, Henry. Yes, it is.”

“It is _not!_ ”

“See, this is why I _told_ you to get an electronic watch!” David snapped, rounding on Neal. “Your kid’s trying to con me out of my money based on this stupid thing!” He slapped the watch the back of his fingers. 

“Hey! This was _expensive!_ ” Neal said indignantly, holding up his wrist. “And besides, you win either way! Ruby said ‘we’re done’ at least ten seconds before eleven!”

“YES!” David’s fists shot up victoriously; Henry swore violently, pounding his fist on the table.

“Those stupid sluts couldn’t stay together another _ten_ seconds?” He pounded the table again. “God _damn_ it!”

David chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “God love ‘em,” he said, shaking his head. “They just bought me a new set of golf clubs.”

“Okay, I gotta text everybody,” Neal sighed, pulling out his phone. “They’ll have to have their bets in before the night’s over; those morons are probably getting back together as we speak— _if you know what I mean.”_ He glanced at Henry’s darkening face, and smiled apologetically. “Sorry.”

“Who _cares?_ ” David said gleefully, throwing his hands up. “I _won!_ I’ve never won yet, I _finally_ won!”

“Okay, Belle says two days from the minute they get back together, and my dad says three,” Neal said, reading off his phone. “And I’m waiting on everyone else.” He looked up at them. “You guys have yours yet?”

“Give us  couple minutes,” Henry grumbled, still cringing at “ _if you know what I mean._ ” Neal nodded, and looked over at Graham.

“What about you, Graham? You want in on this?”

Graham could only stare at them, his eyes wide with incredulous horror. He opened and closed his mouth in disbelief a few times, before he finally managed to speak.

“What is _wrong_ with you people?” he whispered. “How do you live with yourselves?”

The three of them raised their eyebrows, exchanging a glance, before turning their eyes back to Graham.

“One day at a time, bro,” Neal shrugged, stowing his phone away. “One day at a time…”

 

* * *

 

Emma braced herself against the bathroom door, locking it with shaking fingers. She couldn’t breathe. She kept taking big, gulping breaths, trying to breathe, but it seemed like there wasn’t enough air to fill her lungs. 

Her wild eyes stared at the opposite wall, fixating on the tiny pattern on Belle’s guest towels. For a minute, that was all her brain focused on: the tiny little curls of the intricate patterns embleming the soft cotton, the dark blue dancing against the soft white, a tiny thread coming loose at the end—and then she fell to her knees, so she could throw up everything in her stomach.

She sat up, scraping a breath through her burning throat. Her entire body was shaking violently. Slowly, she pulled herself up to the sink, and rinsed her mouth.

She’d be fine. Eventually. She had seen a lot of things since she came to Storybrooke, a lot of _impossible_ things. Her parents were Snow White and Prince Charming. She shared a son with the Evil Queen. Her best friends were over two hundred years old. 

But still…seeing Graham alive again was going to take some adjusting.

There was a knock at the door. “Emma?” her mother’s voice said from outside.

Emma rolled her eyes. _“What?_ ”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” she said through clenched teeth. “I just need a couple minutes.”

Snow was silent for a few minutes. And then—

“Don’t you want to come say ‘hi’ to Graham? I thought you two were getting really close at one point.”

“Mom, please!” 

“What?”

“I don’t need this right now, okay? Just give me a few minutes!”

“But Emma—“

Emma yanked the door open furiously, glaring at her mother as she shouted, “Go _away!_ ”, and slammed the door again.

She could hear Snow’s hesitant footsteps fade away. Emma closed her eyes, bracing herself with both hands on the sink for support. She didn’t know how long she stood there in silence, but after a time, her phone buzzed insistently.

She opened her purse with still trembling fingers, fishing out her phone to read a text from Robin: _I’m taking Regina home. Henry’s still here._

 _Okay,_ she typed back. _Thanks._ And sat back against her heels, staring dully at the wall.

Regina. She hadn’t even thought about what this was going to do to Regina. Graham belonged to another time, a time when Regina had been a darker person, when Emma had been a harder person; a time when they had loathed the very sight of each other. Emma set her jaw determinedly. That wasn’t going to happen again. She’d make sure of it.

She leaned against the wall, still holding her phone loosely in her hands. She could hear footsteps outside: stomping ones followed by hurried ones.

“Lave me alone!” Ruby’s voice shouted—angry, sounding close to tears. 

 _Here we go,_ Emma thought, rolling her eyes (though she was thankful for some normalcy). 

 _“_ Ruby?” Hook’s voice—pleading, begging. “Ruby, I’m _sorry!_ ”

“Just GO _AWAY!”_

Emma idly picked up her phone, texting Regina: _Ruby and Hook just broke up again. I was off by three days._

She waited for a minute. And then—

_Damn it. I wanted to buy myself a spa day._

Emma smiled, chuckling to herself as Ruby and Hook’s argument stormed outside. 

_I’ll take you for a spa day if you buy me a pony._

_That’s what you were going to buy? A pony?_

_Who wouldn’t want a pony?_

_What are you going to do with a pony?_

_I don’t know._

_Then why do you need a pony?_

Emma gritted her teeth. _Regina, it was a joke. Stop fixating on the pony._

_You brought it up._

_No spa day for you._

_I’ll win next time. And then I’m going to rub my spa day in you and your pony’s faces._

Emma laughed out loud. _Fine. See you later._

_Okay. Make sure Henry gets home._

Emma closed her phone, leaning her head back against the wall. Ruby and Hook were still going back and forth, tempting her to open the door and give them the same treatment she gave Snow earlier. 

“Ruby…”

“ _No._ ”

“Please?”

“ _No.”_

“But I—“

“ _No._ ”

“But don’t you—?”

“ _No.”_

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

Ruby didn’t answer; Emma assumed she was glaring at him, that’s what usually happened at this point.

“Ruby, _please._ ” Silence. “Ruby?” Slow footsteps. “Ru—come on, _please?_ ” Slow footsteps fading away. Someone hitting the door, sliding down slowly. Silence.

Emma frowned, scooting over to knock softly on the door. “Hook?”

There was a slight pause. “Emma?”

“Hi.”

“…Hi.”

She twiddled her thumbs. “You want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed. 

“Sorry?”

“Oh… nothing.”

Hook was silent. Emma waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t.

“You, uh—“ she cleared her throat—“you need a magical hug or anything?”

A sigh. “Emma…” There was a slight scraping sound, as if he was shaking his head against the door. “Only _I_ give magical hugs. You know that.”

Emma clung onto the doorknob to help pull herself up, then turned it to open the door. Hook let out a yelp, falling backwards and landing at her feet.

“Oh, shit—sorry, I should’ve give you a warning or something,” she muttered as she helped him up. Hook grimaced, allowing her to pull him into a standing position by the elbow. He kept his eyes down, pretending to brush lint off his shirt as Emma peered at him, narrowing her eyes.

“Hey,” she frowned, craning her neck to see his face. “Your eyeliner’s all smudged.” She lowered her eyes to his hand, noticing the dark smudges on the sides of his fingers, and frowned deeper. “Were you _crying?_ ”

“No,” he said quickly. 

Emma raised her eyebrows skeptically. “ _Sure…_ ”

“I _wasn’t.”_

She snorted, rifling through her purse.

“What are you doing?” Hook said warily. 

She triumphantly held up her eyeliner pencil. “Hold still. I’ll fix it.”

“You don’t have to—bloody _hell,_ Emma! You nearly poked my eye out!”

“Then hold still!” she said irritably. Hook grumbled under his breath, but obediently held still as she carefully traced a black line under his left eye. 

“I supposed  he’s another one of your boyfriends,” he said after a time.

“Hmm?” Emma said absently, working on his right eye. 

“That’s why you’re hiding in here, isn’t it? You don’t want to see him. Or maybe you do, what do I know?” Hook shrugged.

“I told you to hold still.”

“I’m _holding_ still.”

“Stop talking.”

“I think we both know that’s not going to happen.” Hook drummed his fingers impatiently against the doorframe, waiting for her to finish darkening his top lid. Emma tilted his head to the light, studying it critically, then gave a nod of approval. 

“There you go,” she said cheerfully, capping her pencil and stuffing it back in her purse. Hook leaned over the sink, studying her handiwork.

“It’s too heavy!” he said indignantly.

She scoffed. “It is _not._ ”

“Yeah, it is!” he insisted. “You can’t just slap it on! You have to have _finesse,_ Emma! Delicacy, you need delicacy!”

“I did the best I could, okay? I’ve never put eyeliner on someone else, the angle’s all screwey!”

Hook sighed heavily, closing his eyes. “It doesn’t even matter,” he said miserably, slumping to lean forward on his elbows. “I don’t care.”

Emma hovered by the door, biting her lip anxiously. She wasn’t the best person to talk to, especially when Hook was in one of his melodramatic moods. But then, she wasn’t sure she could go out there and see…and see Graham: it still felt like too much, too far beyond her capabilities to handle. She had to, eventually; she _wanted_ to, eventually. Before the night was out; but not quite yet.

Hesitantly, she walked over, putting a hand on Hook’s shoulder. “Um… h-hang in there…pal.” She tried to see his expression in the mirror, but his head was down. She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Just—“

“I need a magical hug!” he wailed in a broken voice, and suddenly his arms were around her as he whimpered into her shoulder, mumbling a string of incoherent words.

“Oh…Okay,” Emma said in a strained voice, feebly patting his shoulder. “Uh…Hook?”

“Hmm?” he sniffed.

“You remember how we talked about—“ she winced—“not hugging so tight?”

He choked on his tears. “No.”

“Well, I’m sorry, hon, but you hug too tight. I can’t breathe.”

“Blame Ruby.”

“And you know what, I do, I _totally_ do…but I’m literally going to pass out in a minute.”

Hook took a shuddering breath, pulling away from her. Emma gave him a weak smile, still patting his shoulder. 

“You’re okay,” she said reassuringly. “You guys’ll be back together by the end of the night.”

He shook his head. “No, we won’t. She said, no. She said, we’re done.”

“She always says that,” Emma scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. Hook closed his eyes, shaking his head insistently.

“No, this time she meant it. She told me…” His bottom lip trembled dangerously. “She told me it was _final_ this time.” 

“So?”

Hook looked at her with his kicked-puppy expression. “She’s _never_ said that before,” he whispered. “She always says _we’re done._ She never says _I mean it this time_ or _it’s final._ Not. Once.”

Emma looked back at him helplessly as he leaned his head down to sob into her shoulder some more.

They _had_ to get back together. She needed them to. Without Hook and Ruby, there was no Hook-and-Ruby pool. And with no Hook-and-Ruby pool, how was she going to use her winnings on those _amazing_ new boots she had passed by in the store windows?

 

* * *

 

“This is a great party!” Tink hollered as she and Belle continued to jump up and down in time to the music.

“I know!” Belle shouted back, reveling in the Lost Boys’ rendition of “So What?”

“Plus, Ruby’s right, that lead singer is _hot!_ ”

Rumple had decided to take a break from the dancing—something everyone around him had been grateful for—and was sitting in the back, deep in discussion with Leroy about something. Tink had dragged Belle away earlier, demanding that she dance and drink the night away with her, since she never got a bachelorette party or some nonsense like that. And here they were, mildly drunk and dancing like teenage girls at a concert.

“Ariel’s right, too,” Belle said, raising her voice against the cheers as the song ended. “They really do look too old to call themselves the Lost _Boys._ ”

“Oh, trust me, they’re not _boys_ ,” Tink said slyly, and wiggled her eyebrows. “I made sure of that.”

Belle made a face. “You always make things weird.”

“Yeah, I do,” Tink agreed, shrugging. “Come on, let’s go get another drink.”

They linked elbows, pushing through the little gaps in the crowd and taking advantage of their short heights to duck under people’s outstretched arms. 

“Oh, by the way,” Tink said, leaning in conspiratorially. “I saw Mulan and Aurora in one of the corners earlier—“

Belle looked at her in surprise, her eyes wide.

“—let’s just say, they could give _Orange is the New Black_ a run for their money.” Tink smirked at Belle’s stunned look, and pulled her toward the bar. 

“S’up, Vince?” she said, slapping the counter. “Give us…two strawberry daiquiris, okay? NO umbrella in mine—I hate those things,” she added to Belle with a grimace.

“Are you _serious_ about Mulan and Aurora?” she asked in a hushed tone as Vince set to work. Tink nodded, still smirking. Belle sat back in her chair, her jaw dropping open.

“This is unbelievable,” she said, taking the drink Vince slid over to her. 

“So is _he_ ,” Tink said, twirling her straw as she looked across the row of seats at the new guy. “Unbelievably _sexy!_ ”

“Tink,” Belle groaned, putting her head on the counter. “I don’t want to hear about your hormones again.”

“Oh, my God,” Tink breathed suddenly. “Dude, your stepson’s over there…”

“Oh, here we go,” Belle said in muffled voice, keeping her face against the counter.

“He’s so fucking hot, I can’t even!” Tink said wildly. “Holy fuck, look at him in that suit! I mean— Jesus Christ, what is he trying to do to me? That man is a _god!_ ”

Belle lifted her head, giving Tink a miserable look. “Why are you doing this to me?” she asked. “Do you hate me? Is that what it is, do you _hate_ me?”

Tink closed her eyes, dipping her hand into the glass beside her, to dab herself with the ice cubes. The man looked at her in disgust, muttering something under his breath before he pushed his drink away and stalked off. Tink didn’t even notice’ she was too busy trying to administer an on-the-go cold shower for herself.

“Oh, there’s a fucking surprise,” Belle scoffed, rolling her eyes as Ruby materialized and threw her arms around…Grant? She couldn’t remember his name. “Hey, Tink?”

“Yeah?” Tink opened her eyes, carefully avoiding looking at Neal. 

“That new guy—what’s his name?”

“I don’t know. I’ve just been calling him ‘Professor Sexy’ in my head.”

“Fantastic,” Belle muttered. _That_ was helpful. 

They sipped their drinks as Hook appeared, glaring at —Belle grimaced— _Professor Sexy_. Hook pulled some “jealous boyfriend” routine, and then he and Ruby started shouting. _Damn it,_ Belle thought, moodily stirring her straw in her drink. She had given them eight days, it had only been six, nearly seven. 

Her phone buzzed a little while later, and she opened it to see a text from Neal: _How much time do you give the next round?_

 _Put me down for two days as soon as they get back together,_ she typed back. _P.S.—stay away from Tink, she’s super-drunk._

“Hey, Tink,” she said, elbowing her.

“Mmm-hmm?” Tink hummed, taking another sip from her daiquiri.

“You want to go make sure Hook’s okay? It’s your turn.”

Tink made a face. “Eww, no. I don’t want to spend the rest of the party listening to him bitch about Ruby.”

“Oh, come on, _please_ ,” Belle begged. “He’s probably going to keep me up until five in the morning on the phone, the least you can do is check in on him now? Please? You _know_ how he gets in this state, you can’t leave him alone.”

Tink grumbled, but picked up her drink and hopped off the stool. “I’ll be back,” she said darkly. “I’m not staying, I’m just going to pop in and say hi, then I’m coming back.”

Belle shrugged dismissively, and played around on her phone while she waited for Tink.

She had just been abysmally defeated on a level of Candy Crush (though to be fair, it _did_ have several bears and candy strings) when she got a text from Tink: _Emma’s taking care of it._

Belle frowned. _Eww, what does THAT mean?_

She waited, tapping her fingers listlessly, until Tink replied: _I don’t know, the door’s closed…_ ;D.

 _Perv,_ she typed back. _You shitty nun._

_I’m coming back. I’m bored. Is Professor Sexy still there?_

_Yeah. And can you not call him that? It objectifies men. It’s offensive._

_Literally don’t care. I’ll be there in a minute._

Belle sipped her daiquiri until it was half-empty, around the same time Tink showed up again. _Her_ glass was empty (of course), and she ordered another drink as soon as she slid back in the seat.

“So, what happened?” Belle asked, chewing on her straw.

Tink batted her hand, rolling her eyes. “She was fixing his eyeliner, that’s it. Jesus, Belle, I was _kidding.”_

“Well, I don’t know!” Belle said defensively. “They both get slutty when they’re drunk, I was just making sure!”

“Whatever,” Tink said, already losing interest. “Come on, let’s go talk to Professor Sexy.”

“ _Tink…”_

Tink pulled her by the wrist over to the new guy, avoiding looking in Neal’s direction. She plopped down in the seat beside him, and yanked Belle into the seat next to her. 

“Hi,” Tink said, flashing him a brilliant smile. “This is Belle, I’m Tink, and you’re hot.”

He choked on his drink, coughing violently enough to pound himself on the chest with his fist. Tink continued to smile, completely unabashed.

“Thank you,” he croaked finally, holding out his hand. “But you can just call me ‘Graham’.”

“ _Graham_ ,” Tink repeated huskily, arching an eyebrow. “Now, I understand you were a sheriff?”

“That’s right,” he said pleasantly.

“Hmm…any chance you still have those handcuffs?”

“Here we go,” Belle muttered, taking another swig of her drink.

Graham smiled vaguely. “I’m sorry?”

“Ooh, I love that accent,” Tink purred, leaning closer. “Go on, say something else.”

“Uh…” Graham shook his head slightly, still smiling. “What should I say?”

“Say…” Tink tapped her fingers against her lips, thinking. “Say—“ she leaned toward him to whisper in his ear.

Graham made the mistake of taking a sip at the moment: it sprayed out of his mouth, and he started coughing again. 

 _“Excuse me?_ ” he rasped, his eyes wide and disbelieving. 

“Oh, come on,” Tink giggled. “I’m just kidding.”

Graham looked at Belle incredulously; she shook her head and mouthed, _I am so sorry._ Graham gave Tink one last wary glance before sliding a few seats away from her, huddling closer to Henry, David, and Neal.

Tink turned to her with a frown. “Well, he was rather rude, wasn’t he?”

Belle ignored her, sliding off her seat and walking over to the one next to Graham. “Hey, guys,” she smiled, nodding to the other three, and turned to Graham. “Hey, uh…I just wanted to apologize for my friend there. She’s depraved.”

“Yes,” Graham said flatly, and gulped his drink. He swallowed, exhaling loudly, then flicked his eyes to her and offered her a small smile. “Thanks, though.”

Belle nodded awkwardly. “So…” she said, drumming her hands on the counter. “Pretty good party, eh?”

“Oh, excellent party,” Graham said, though he kept looking around, not really paying attention. Belle frowned, twisting in her seat to find what he was looking at: all she could see was the crowd of dancers, moving in time to whatever the Lost Boys were playing now.

“I don’t supposed,” Graham said hesitantly, “you know an Emma Swan?”

Belle swung her head back to look at him.“I take it you do?”

“Well…” He looked at his fingers wrapped around the glass, tapping his thumb against it. “I did…We were, uh…”

Belle raised her eyebrows, prodding him.

“Friends,” he finished, though the tone of his voice implied there was a lot more to the story.  

“Friends,” she repeated skeptically. “With…benefits?”

“No, nothing like that,” he said quickly. 

“Friends with _future_ benefits?”

Graham suddenly became extremely interested in his fingernails. Belle smirked, and opened her mouth, ready to torment him about it, when she caught a flutter of movement out of the corner of her eye. She half-turned in her seat, and saw…speak of the devil.

“Hey,” she said, nudging Graham with her elbow. “Your _friend_ is on her way over here.”

Graham’s eyes widened slightly, and he turned around, abandoning his drink. Belle took the opportunity to peer over the rim to see what he was drinking, sniffing it: Hmm. A daiquiri. Funny, she never would have pegged him for a daiquiri man.

“Emma?” Graham croaked, slowly rising out of his seat. Belle dipped her finger in the daiquiri to taste it: _Oh,_ she thought approvingly. Kiwi. Positively delightful.

“Graham,” Emma said in a trembling voice. 

 _I really should try a kiwi one next,_ Belle thought, turning around to watch the scene unfold. 

Graham stood still, staring at her with his mouth slightly open. Emma stood a few feet away from him, her eyes wary, searching. Belle tapped her fingers, boredom creeping up on her. How long were they going to stand there, staring at each other?

“Come on,” she called out. “Do something, I’m falling asleep over here!”

They apparently didn’t hear her: they stood there, frozen. Emma was the first one to speak, her voice coming out weak and high-pitched, wavering.

“I couldn’t… I-I needed a few minutes to process, so I just—“

“It’s okay,” Graham said, smiling. Belle propped her head up with one hand, watching with half-lidded eyes as Emma broke into a watery smile, and hurried over to give him a hug, throwing her arms tightly around his neck. Belle looked on, unimpressed.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” she muttered, when they finally broke apart, still beaming at each other. 

“Is that my shoelace?” Graham asked, suddenly, turning over her wrist. Emma looked down, smiling sheepishly.

“Yeah, I…” She looked up at him through her eyelashes. “I just wanted something to remember you by.”

“So you picked his _shoelace?_ ” Belle said incredulously, dropping her hand. They ignored her, just continued smiling at each other in a breathless sort of way.

“So…” Emma breathed, her hands curling around his. “Do you, uh… do you need somewhere to stay?”

“I’ve been staying with Victor. Dr. Whale,” he clarified, seeing her momentary confusion. “He and your boy have been helping me… Catching me up on all the gossip, and whatnot. On… on everybody.”

Emma nodded, unable to stop smiling at him. “What about a job? You want to be my deputy?”

“Deputy?” Graham laughed. “My, how times have changed.”

“I thought I was your deputy,” Neal frowned, joining the conversation. Emma and Graham looked over at him, finally returning to the real world.

“Neal,” Emma said, forcing the smile to remain on her face. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

Neal narrowed his eyes suspiciously, looking between her and Graham; then slowly, moved down to Emma’s wrist, fixating on the leather cord. His brow twitched, and his mouth opened slightly. He looked up at Graham, his eyes widening in dawning comprehension.

“You’re Shoelace Guy?” he asked disbelievingly. “Seriously?”

Graham’s eyes widened fearfully, and he snapped his head back and forth between Neal and Emma. “Oh, my God, please tell me I’m not in the middle of something again,” he said worriedly. “Neal, I am so—“

“No, it’s fine,” Emma reassured him, her eyes flicking toward Neal’s. “We’re just bros. We’re not together.” She smiled at Graham. “You’re not intruding on anything.”

Belle jumped as a chair shoved back suddenly, and Henry stalked off, glaring. Emma’s smile slid off her face, as did her hand from Graham’s shoulder.

“Henry?” she called anxiously, her eyes trying to find him in the crowd. “Henry!”

“I’ll get him,” Neal muttered, brushing past her and Graham (none too gently, either). Emma closed her eyes and dropped her head to hide it in her hands, sighing heavily.

“I keep screwing everything up,” she said in a muffled voice. “I can’t do anything right anymore.”

“Nope,” Belle agreed, looking for Vince so she could order a kiwi daiquiri. “Hey, Vince! I’m getting dehydrated!”

“No, I do,” Graham said miserably. “I seem to be getting in the way of everything, I’m just disrupting so much—“

“No, you’re not!” Emma insisted. “It’s me, I…” She broke off, biting her lip. “It’s a long story. All you have to know is, it’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

“Emma, you don’t have to say that—“

“But it’s true!”

“You don’t know that—“

“Oh, my God!” Belle said loudly. “It’s both your faults, okay? Now, just shut up, I want to enjoy the rest of my party!”

She snatched the daiquiri Vince set in front of her, and slid off the stool, shooting them a glare as she pushed past them.

“Fucking drama queens,” she muttered to herself, looking around for Tink. She took a long sip from her drink, squinting her eyes as she picked through the crowd, looking for the familiar blonde head and glittery dress, all the while reflecting on all the drama that had unfolded that night.

There was Ruby and Hook breaking up; whatever was going on between Emma and Neal; Henry throwing a minor hissy fit at that last minute there; Neal and Regina finding out they were half-siblings; Graham’s reappearance, which had probably made everything a lot more emotional than it was already.

 _Graham._ Belle clenched her teeth. He had certainly gotten tangled into quite a few messy situations, hadn’t he? Because that was all this town needed, right? More drama, more tangled love lives, more secrets and whispering and rumors…

Well, she wasn’t going to worry about it. Rumple was going to take her to New York for their second honeymoon in a week (the _second_ Thanksgiving was over, they were hopping a plane), and then she was going to enjoy her time off from all the gossip. And by the time they came home in time for Christmas, everything would have blown over.

And if not, there was always Hook’s extremely alcoholic egg nog to help her get through the holiday drama.

 


	24. Chapter 24

Regina tapped her fingers on the table, waiting for the others. They had agreed to meet at Granny’s at 8:00 that morning. It was now—she checked her watch—8:02. Her anxiety revved up. Why were they late? She had specially said 8:00, not 8:02. Where _were_ they? Did they get into a car accident? Were they okay? Were they _dead?_ Where could they possibly—?

Her head snapped up as the bell jingled. A curly head poked its way through.

Regina’s heart sped up; her lungs closed; the blood drained from her face. Graham. It was _Graham_ , walking casually into the diner, as if he had not just waltzed back into their lives two days ago. As if he’d never been _dead._ As if she’d never killed him.

Not that anyone knew that.

As far as everyone else knew, Graham had died of sudden heart complications. Which technically he _had—_ it was just that the complications in question were Regina’s hand and the fact that she was crushing it to dust. 

No one _really_ had to know about that, right?

There was still the awkwardness of their… _romantic_ entanglement. Regina grimaced, hiding her face with one hand as he passed by her on his way to the little corner table. In her defense, she had been _very_ lonely for a long time, stuck in a loveless marriage, dealing with an insipid, pain-in-the-ass little kid, and it couldn't have been _all that bad_ for him—Robin never complained.

“Morning, Ruby,” Graham called out, settling with his newspaper. Regina rolled her eyes at the enthusiastic, “Hi!”. Ruby’s schoolgirl crush had always been pathetically obvious, but now she wasn’t even bothering to hide it. 

She heard footsteps coming down the stairs from the back, where the inn connected to the diner. _Hook and Neal_ , she thought, feeling something plummet in her stomach. She still couldn’t swallow the fact that Neal was her _brother._

“Morning, gentleman,” she said pleasantly as they came into view.

“Regina,” Neal said in the same carefully polite tone, inclining his head. Hook didn’t say anything; he just yanked a chair out and dropped onto it, glaring at the table. Regina raised her eyebrows: he was still wearing that stupid tie loosely around his neck; his hair was all disheveled, sticking out all different directions; his normal “scruffy chic” had been replaced by a “I-honestly-don’t-give-a-fuck-whether-or-not-I-shave chic”; and there were circles under his eyes, which looked even worse as his (ridiculous) eyeliner was all smudged. 

“My God, you look terrible,” Regina breathed. 

“Stop flirting with me, Regina, I’m not in the mood,” he growled, pulling a menu toward him. “Who’re we waiting for, anyway?”

“David, Snow, and…” Regina trailed off, seeing Neal’s darkening face. “And some other people.”

“How’s Henry?” Neal asked, partly to change the subject. 

“Hmph,” was all she could manage.

She was _beyond_ furious with that kid. The morning after the party, she had sat him down and forced him to divulge every last detail of _everything_ even remotely related to the Graham situation. Henry had stolen from her; lied to her; kept things from her knowingly and continuously for _over a month_ ; and worse, he had roped Dr. Whale into it!

And the _worst_ thing was that she wasn't even really that angry with him.

She should have been. She should have been seething mad, crazy mad, like Carrie-White-psychopath-religious-fanatic-mother-mad! But ever since Henry had told her that he’d managed to bring Graham back from the dead with the well, Regina had been thinking: if he could bring back Graham… could he bring back others?

“Hey, guys,” Ruby said brightly, coming over with the coffee pot. “Can I get you some—?” 

She broke off, staring at the extremely disheveled Hook scowling at the menu.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, her eyes widening. “What happened to _you?_ ”

“Oh, nothing much,” Hook said coolly, not looking at her as he pretended to flip through the menu. “Just had my heart ripped out and shattered into a million pieces, that’s all. But thanks for asking, darling. Much appreciated.” He flashed her a sarcastic smile, which faded into a grimace soon after. “Run along, now.”

“Actually, I’d like some coffee,” Neal said hopefully.

“Neal!” Hook muttered furiously.

“Coming up,” Ruby said, plastering a smile on her face. “Regina?”

“Coffee. Please hurry, try not to get distracted by any shiny objects.”

Ruby’s smile twitched, but she merely nodded and turned away to get their cups. Hook hit Neal in the shoulder with back of his hand, looking betrayed.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?”

“ _Ow_ ,” Neal said in an annoyed tone, rubbing his shoulder. He shot a glare at Hook, and hit him back. “Jerk.”

Hook made an indignant noise, and thwacked him back. “Git.”

 _Hit._ “Asshole.”

 _Hit._ “Wanker.”

 _Hit._ “Dickhead.”

 _Hit._ “Asshat.”

Neal paused, staring at him disbelievingly. “Did you just call me an ‘asshat’?”

Hook frowned. “What?”

“You just called him an asshat,” Regina said, pointing at him. Hook looked between the two of them for a minute, then scoffed.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did,” Neal said, looking concerned. “Dude, you’re talking like _Ruby._ ”

“No, I’m not,” Hook said through clenched teeth.

“Yes, you are,” Regina chuckled, thoroughly amused by this turn of events. 

Hook opened his mouth to argue, but that was when Ruby chose to reappear with their drinks, setting the two cups down in front of Neal and Regina. She hovered, looking at Hook hesitantly.

“You sure you don’t want anything?”

“How about a drink?” he growled, glaring at the table. Ruby raised her eyebrows.

“A drink? _Now?_ ”

“Yes, now!” he snapped. “Why, is there a problem?”

“It’s 8:00 in the morning!”

“8:04, actually,” Regina said quietly.

Hook whirled around in his seat, glaring at Ruby enough to make her take a step back. “I’m a grown man, Ruby Lucas,” he snarled. “I do what I want, when I want, _because_ I want to. So if I want a drink at 8:00 in the morning, I can bloody well have a drink at 8:00 in the morning. You know why?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “ _Because I want to!”_

Ruby slit her eyes icily. “ _Fine,_ ” she spat venomously. “I’ll get you your stupid drink— _asshat._ ” She stalked away, muttering in a clearly audible voice, “Fucking alcoholic bastard.”

“I AM NOT AN ALCOHOLIC!” Hook roared, standing up and knocking his chair back.

“Will you _shut up_?” Regina hissed as Neal picked up his chair and gently tugged him back down. “People are staring!”

“They’re only staring because of the way that skirt fits you, love,” he said, glowering at the salt shaker. Neal closed his eyes, pinching his forefingers to the bridge of his nose. 

“Can you not hit on her in front of me?” he said through clenched teeth. “ _Please?”_

Hook chose to respond by burying his head in his arms and muttering darkly in a muffled voice. Neal and Regina exchanged a tired glance, sighing. He was _such_ a child.

The bell tinkled again, and David walked in, followed closely by Snow and Emma. Regina flicked her eyes at Neal, who suddenly became fascinated with the menu, before smiling politely and waving them over. 

“Hey, guys,” David said cheerfully, pulling some chairs up. He raised his eyebrows as Ruby slammed a drink in front of Hook and stalked away. “Early to be drinking, isn’t it?”

“Shut up, David,” Hook muttered into his glass.

“Someone didn’t get their beauty sleep last night,” Snow smirked.

“Okay,” Regina said quickly, before Hook could retort. “Let’s all recognize that there a lot of jokes to be made here, and just tuck them away for a later time, because I have something far more important to say.” She paused. “And also, I would like to point out that he looks like he was violated by a homeless drag queen.”

“Damn you, Regina,” Hook said over everyone snorting.

Ruby came back, setting down another three cups and offering coffee, pointedly ignoring Hook. Snow gave her a tentative smile, which she also ignored.

“Still fighting, then?” Emma asked sympathetically once Ruby left. Snow sighed, not answering. Regina exhaled impatiently.

“Yes, it’s all very sad,” she said, raising her eyes to the ceiling. “But also quite boring, so I’m just going to go ahead and start talking…”

She trailed off, seeing Emma turn her head, smiling in the other direction. Regina’s eyes narrowed as Emma flirted with Graham across the room, giggling silently and mouthing things. Neal frowned thoughtfully at his knife, picking it up and twirling it experimentally through his fingers. Regina clenched her teeth, tapping her nails against the table as she waited for Emma to finish tossing her hair and waving.

“I’m sorry, Miss Swan, are we disrupting you?”she said finally. Emma snapped her head back, eyes wide.

“Oh! Right, sorry,” she muttered, sinking back into her seat. Snow twisted in her seat to see who Emma had been “talking” to, turning back with raised eyebrows.

“Something you want to tell me?”

“What, that?” Emma shrugged, smiling foolishly. “It’s nothing. He’s going to be working at the station again, so I just—“

“Excuse me?” Hook said angrily, whipping his head toward Emma. “ _He’s_ working at the station?”

Emma’s smile soured. “ _Yes,_ ” she said irritably, and folded her arms. “So what?”

Hook scoffed, an incredulous smile on his face. “But… _I_ work at the station.”

“Yeah?” 

“And—“ Hook jutted his thumb at Neal—“ _Neal_ works at the station.”

Emma raised her eyebrows coolly.

Hook laughed humorlessly. “You’re joking, right? This is just some more of your sick, twisted sense of humor, right?”

“Why would this be a joke?” Emma frowned. “He’s a _sheriff,_ isn’t he?”

“That’s right,” Neal said patronizingly. “He’s _Sheriff_ Graham. And some nights—he’s a _fireman._ ” He smiled at Emma’s narrowing eyes. “Or he can be _Police Officer_ Graham or _Pilot_ Graham or _Navy_ Graham—“

“What are you implying?” Emma said icily. Neal shrugged.

“I’m not implying anything,” he said pleasantly. “I’m sure male prostitution is a noble profession, in its own way.”

“He’s not a prostitute,” Emma snapped. “Just because he happens to be a—“

“ _Prostitute,_ ” Hook insisted in a sing-song voice. 

“He is _not!_ ”

“I WAS TALKING!” Regina shouted.

The diner fell silent. Everyone turned their heads to look at her with wide eyes. Fixing a disinterested expression on her face, Regina carefully smoothed her hair, and took a delicate sip of her coffee. Slowly, the diner returned to its overlapping conversations, though no one at Regina’s table dared say a word without her permission.

“Now, then,” she said calmly. “As I explained last night, Henry thinks it was the well that brought Graham back, because it’s connected to Lake Nostos—I’m sorry, did I say something funny?” she interrupted herself as Emma and Hook snorted into their cups.

“No, it’s…” Emma closed her eyes, still smiling as she shook her head. “Nothing. Keep going.”

“Hmm,” Regina said, pursing her lips disapprovingly.  “If you two can’t behave yourselves, I shall be forced to unleash my wrath upon your miserable souls.” She took another careful sip, and dabbed her mouth daintily with her napkin. “Anyway, Henry managed to bring one person back from the dead, and I asked him, and he thinks he could do it again. So…”

“Oh, Regina,” Snow breathed, looking at her worriedly. “You want to bring back… _her?_ ”

“Yes,” Regina said flatly, staring her dead in the eyes. “I want Henry to bring back my mother.”

 

 

 

Everyone stared at her for a few minutes in stunned silence. While she was waiting for them to react, Regina flipped through the menu, trying to decide on something. Perhaps a nice little stack of pancakes? Or the French toast? Fresh fruit on the side, because nutrients _were_ important, but then again—

“Are you _insane?_ ” Emma said incredulously. “Why would you want to bring Cora back?”

“Because she’s my mother, and I loved her dearly. Should I get the French toast or pancakes? Can’t quite decide what I’m in the mood for,” she said absently, frowning at the menu. 

“Regina!” Snow exclaimed, horrified. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Snow, it’s my cheat day.“

“You _can’t_ bring Cora back!”

“I can’t. Henry can,” Regina said, smiling poisonously. 

“But _why?_ ” David asked, staring at her with wide eyes. “She was horrible to you, Regina! She murdered your fiancé!”

“And Snow murdered my mother, but we’re still friends,” Regina said coldly. 

Snow’s face drained of blood and she went very still. Regina kept her eyes fixed on David, though her words were directed to everyone.

“My mother was only the way she was because she didn’t have her heart. She couldn’t love, she couldn’t regret, she couldn't be decent.” She took a deep breath. “And I used to be just as bad, if not worse.”

Emma shredded her napkin, avoiding her eyes; David looked at her sympathetically, reaching out to take her hand.

“Regina, no one blames you—“

“Good,” she said bluntly. “Because you shouldn’t. So you shouldn’t blame Cora, either. She _could_ redeem herself; she _could_ be a better person. All she needs is the second chance you all gave me.”

Emma sighed, dropping the napkin. “But she was ready to kill us all,” she said, meeting Regina’s eyes worriedly. “She was ready to kill _Henry._ ”

Neal answered before Regina could. “So was my father, at one point. Remember when he was obsessed with that prophecy about a boy being his undoing? He was literally ready to kill Henry. And look at him now.” He dropped his gaze, looking at the table. “If Regina says Cora can redeem herself, I believe her.”

Regina looked at him in surprise; she hadn’t expected anyone to jump to her defense so quickly. “Thank you, Neal.”

He gave a small shrug, still keeping his eyes on the table. Regina looked around at the rest.

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll even enroll her in some sessions with Archie. Those seemed to help Rumple.” She still refused to refer to him as “Dad”. 

“Regina, she was a _psychopath!_ ” Emma said desperately. “It’s dangerous! Who knows what she could do to us? Do you remember _nothing_?”

“I remember everything!” Regina flared up. “I remember how you all conspired to keep Henry from me; how you fell for her pathetic frame-job, because you were all so desperate to see me in jail; how _you_ brought her back to Storybrooke in the first place! I remember trying with every fiber of being to be a better mother to Henry, and how you all were so quick to turn on me despite that!” She slammed her hand down. “You got to have your parents back, Emma! Why can’t I have _mine?_ ”

Emma’s mouth dropped open; she stared at Regina with wide, fearful eyes. “Regina,” she croaked. “I was only trying to—“

“Well, _stop_ trying to,” she hissed. She glared at them, moving her eyes from the stunned David to the petrified Snow. “I wasn’t asking permission. I was simply notifying you.” She leaned back in her seat, still rigid with fury. “Out of respect for the rest of the town, I’ll give them some time to readjust to having Graham back. But in the meantime, I’m going to work with Henry and figure out _exactly_ how he resurrected him, so nothing goes wrong when I bring my mother back.”

There was silence for a long time as they all let her words sink in. Regina drew in a deep breath, watching their faces as they swallowed the fact that whether they liked it or not, Cora would be back. They had no say in the matter, and if they did, it should have only been words of encouragement. They owed her that. After everything they put her through, that she had achieved, they _owed_ her. 

“Okay,” Snow said finally, surprising everyone. “You’re right, Regina.”

“I know that,” she said impatiently. “But I appreciate the sentiment all the same.” Regina raised her eyebrows at Emma and David. “ _Ahem?_ ”

“I agree with Snow,” David said in a low voice. “But… just take some time and really think about it, okay? Make sure you want it.”

Regina smiled slightly, and nodded. “Emma?”

Emma took a deep breath. “I suppose there’s nothing I can say that will make you change your mind?”

“No. At the moment, I don’t really value your opinion.”

“Great,” she said weakly. “Then go for it, I guess.”

Regina clapped her hands together. “Excellent! So, we are all in agreement, then, even though none of you really had any choice in the…” She trailed off as Hook suddenly shot his hand in the air, waving it as though he were in school. She closed her eyes exasperatedly. “What is it?”

Hook dropped his hand. “Excuse me, but no one asked me for _my_ opinion on that matter.”

“That’s because no one cares about your opinion.”

“I don’t appreciate that,” Hook frowned. “I’m feeling very unloved.”

“And that would be because no one loves you. Now as I was—“

“Does no one care about the fact _I_ might be very uncomfortable with Cora back in our lives?” Hook said loudly. 

Regina exchanged a confused glance with David and Neal, while Snow and Emma tsked, shaking their heads knowingly. “What do _you_ have to do with anything?” Regina scoffed. “You’re completely useless. You contribute nothing to society.”

Hook made an indignant noise, putting his hand to his heart. “Regina!” he said in an injured tone. “I resent that! I contribute my beautiful face to society every day!”

“Yes, thank you for that,” Neal said, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “God knows where civilization would be without your beautiful face to guide us.”

“What are you worried about?” David asked, rounding on Hook. “I thought you and Cora were friends. You should be pleased.”

Hook dropped his eyes to the table, going very still. “I wouldn’t call us _friends_ ,” he said in a low voice.

“You okay, dude?” Neal asked, peering at him concernedly. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“I’m fine,” Hook said in wavering voice that implied he was completely _not_ fine. “It’s just… I had a complicated relationship with Cora.”

Regina narrowed her eyes, studying him: his eyes kept shifting around nervously, flickering between Emma and Snow; he was breathing very shallowly, his fingers tapping anxiously on the table. “Exactly what went on between you two?” she asked suspiciously. 

Hook suddenly became very interested in his rings, turning his hand over to watch them catch the light. Regina’s eyes widened as a horrible sense of realization dawned on her.

“Oh, my God…” she breathed. “You didn’t…?”

Hook looked up, his brow twitching. “I didn’t…?”

Regina clamped a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with disgust. “My _mother?”_ she squeaked, her hand falling away. _“_ You slept with my _mother?”_

Hook looked startled. “With _Cora?_ ” he said incredulously. “Are you mad?”

“You did, didn't you?” Regina said shrilly. “Oh, my _God,_ you sick, twisted bastard, you slept with my _mother!”_

“No!” Hook said, horrified. “Regina, honestly!”

“Oh, my _God!_ ” she moaned, dropping her head in her hands. “I can’t believe this!”

“I _didn’t_!” he insisted. “Anything that happened came from _her,_ not me!”

“I don’t know,” Emma said, raising an eyebrow. “You two looked pretty friendly to me.”

Regina lifted her head, looking at the ceiling miserably. “Oh, my _God,_ ” she whispered, feeling tears gathering at the back of her eyes. “This is disgusting.”

“Hook,” David said, looking deeply disturbed. “You have a problem.”

Hook’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “How many bloody times do I have to tell you? It wasn’t _me!_ ” 

“We should get him some sessions with Dr. Hopper,” Snow said firmly. “The man is a sex addict. It’s an illness.”

“That’s not true, stop saying that!”

“We’re here for you, buddy,” Neal said gently, putting an arm around him. “We’ll help you get through this.”

“Get through what?” he demanded. “Her mother’s the one with the problem! This is why you can’t bring her back!”

“Don’t blame your mental illness on my mother!” Regina spat. “You _pervert!”_

Hook sputtered. “I’m the bloody victim here! Why is everyone yelling at me?”

“It’s all right,” Emma said soothingly, reaching across the table. “Archie’s really great for helping people get past addictions, look what he did for Rumple’s magic addiction.”

“I don’t _have_ an addiction!” he said through clenched teeth.

“Yes, you do,” Neal said sadly. “This whole time, we just thought you were a slut. But now we know, okay? Now we can help you.”

Hook stared at them all open-mouthed and wide-eyed, his expression a mixture of disbelief and rage. “You’re all mad,” he breathed, standing up. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing, you’re all _mad!_ ”

“Denial,” David said, looking at them all gravely. He turned to Hook. “Look, admitting you have a problem is the first step. You have to learn to accept yourself before you can—“

“I accept myself! I bloody love myself! I’m one of my favorite people!” Hook said, throwing his arms up. “Cora came onto _me,_ okay? And for the last time, nothing happened!”

“Sure, it didn’t,” Snow said witheringly, slitting her eyes at him. “You were just an _innocent_ victim.”

“I _was!_ ” he insisted furiously. 

Regina shot him a look of pure venom, standing up and stalking closer to him. “You listen to me, _pirate,_ ” she growled, pointing a threatening finger in his face. “When I bring my mother back—and I _will_ bring my mother back—if you so much as glance in her direction, I will _destroy_ you. I will grind your spirit beneath my boot, I will crush your soul with my bare hands! I will take every last cell that makes up your pathetic existence and _obliterate it.”_

Hook glowered at her. “You’re very eloquent. I find that extremely attractive in a woman.”

If Neal and David hadn't been there to restrain her, the diner would have become the site of a very gruesome murder. As it was, they had to keep a firm grip around her arms and lead her outside, before Hook suffered a painful death; Ruby and Graham watched with wide eyes as Regina was escorted away, still spitting curses and dark words. 

“…into the fiery pits of _Hell!_ ” she finished as the door shut behind him. “I _HATE_ HIM!”

“Regina, calm down,” David said. “Don’t worry, we’ll get him some sessions with Archie.”

“ _I_ need some sessions with Archie!” she snapped. “How much more do I have to take? Rumple’s my father, Neal’s my brother, Graham’s back, my son has magic, and now I find out that Hook—“ she choked on the words, shaking her head. “I can’t. I can’t! How much can one person take before they _break?_ ”

“Regina—“ David began, but Neal stopped him.

“I get it,” he said as she tried to catch her breath. “I’m dealing with a lot, too, okay? I just found out about a sister I never knew I had. My kid’s playing around with magic, and that obviously scares me. This—this _Graham_ guy comes back from the dead, and now Emma’s all…” Neal closed his eyes, drawing in a calming breath. “My best friend may or may not be involved in a _very_ weird situation with your mom, who you’re planning on bringing back from the dead. I’m—“ his voice cracked, sounding a little more high-pitched—“I’m not doing so good, either you know?”

Regina looked at him sadly. “We’re so fucked up,” she said in a soft voice. 

“We’re all fucked up,” David sighed.

“David, please!” Regina snapped. She turned her eyes back to Neal, looking at him intently. “This is a family moment.”

Neal gave her half a smile. “Still weird to think about, huh?”

Regina shrugged. “It’s getting less weird.”

 

 

 


	25. Chapter 25

 

“Pass the salt.” 

Emma silently passed David the salt, then dropped her eyes back to her plate.

“Thank you.” 

It was one of the quietest dinners they’d had in a long time. Probably because neither Hook or Neal had come by that night, as they usually did. On a normal day, the two of them would show up, Hook loudly complaining about all the injustices in his life while Neal went over to talk to Henry; everyone would fight for ten minutes whether to stay in or go to Granny’s for dinner, which usually involved a lot of harsh insults thrown between Snow and Hook; and wherever they ended up, the fighting and laughing and debating would continue on for at least a good hour after dinner.

But tonight, it was just David, Snow, Emma, and Henry. Neal and Regina had decided to get some sibling-bonding time, and Hook said he was too depressed to come over. It was tense, to say the least. 

Emma, Snow, and David were still terrified by the prospect of Cora returning; that had been _quite_ the bombshell Regina dropped on them that morning. David only hoped she would keep her word and hold off on resurrecting that woman.

On top of that, David and Emma were rather worried about Hook. He was not doing well, not at all: he seemed to be taking the break-up with Ruby much harder than usual—probably because this one seemed to be sticking. Normally, they were back together within an hour of breaking up, but it had been a few days by now. And Hook was still wearing the tie she had tied around his neck for him, even though Neal had demanded his tie back several times now.

As if that wasn’t enough, Henry was still furious with Emma over the way she had cavalierly flirted with Graham right in front of him and Neal. David wasn’t sure what was going on between Neal and Emma, but he was all too aware of what Henry had been hoping for. For the past few days, Henry had all but ignored Emma, only speaking to her in a cold, flat affect when he absolutely _had_ to. Emma could barely get a word out of him, otherwise. 

David combed his fork through his rice, searching for something— _anything—_ to say. “So,” he said, his voice echoing amongst the quiet scraping of forks against plates. “Who’s excited to watch the Thanksgiving parade on Thursday?”

Henry glowered at his peas. “Yippee,” he muttered.

“Oh, come on,” Emma said, trying to sound cheerful. “It’ll be fun.”

Henry raised his eyes to hers, directing his glower at her instead of the peas. Emma’s smile faltered.

“Henry,” she said, looking at him pleadingly. “Please talk to me.”

“Fine,” Henry shrugged, tossing down his fork. He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms. “What do you want to talk about?”

Emma blinked; she hadn’t been expecting that. “Why you’re so angry with me, for starters. I mean, I don’t know where this is coming from,” she said desperately. “Is this because of Graham? Because Henry, you have to understand…”

She trailed off, seeing Henry’s eyes narrow dangerously. 

“Go on,” he said coldly. “What do I have to understand?”

David and Snow exchanged a look across the table. Emma bit her lip anxiously, twirling her fork between her fingers.

“Look, kid, I know… I know you had your heart set on me and your dad getting back together, but I just don’t see that happening.” Emma looked at him sadly, shaking her head slightly. “I’m sorry.”

Henry raised his eyebrows. “You don’t see it happening?”

She shook her head again, her eyes not leaving his. “No.”

“And when did you decide this? Because you may not have noticed, since I’ve been pretty much _invisible_ for the past two years, but I’ve been here the whole time. And I’ve seen you two together, and it didn’t look like you ‘didn’t see it happening’ until very recently.”

 _Oy, this is going to get ugly,_ David thought, taking a sip of water. Snow bit her lip, looking between Emma and Henry like it was a tennis match.

“Henry, adult relationships are complex—“

“Bull. _Shit._ ”

Emma frowned. “What?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I said—“ Henry leaned forward, clearing his throat—“ _bullshit._ ” He gave her a sarcastic smile. “Better?”

Emma slammed her fork down. “Drop the attitude, kid!”

Henry stood up, knocking his chair back. “You’re just doing what you always do and running off!” he shouted. “The minute it stops being easy, the minute you actually have to humble yourself and be vulnerable, you take off! I don’t know _what_ happened, but I know that Saturday morning, you were acting one way, and Saturday night, you and Graham were practically writing your fucking wedding vows in front of us!”

Emma looked stunned. “ _Henry!_ “

“Language!” Snow said scandalously.

David closed his eyes in exasperation. “Snow…”

“Where are you going?” Emma said shakily as Henry kicked the chair out of his way and snatched his coat off the rack. “Henry?”

“To Regina’s,” he growled, giving her a very ugly look as he tugged the door open. “At least she’s not too wrapped up in her own love-life to give a damn about anyone else.”

He slammed the door shut, making the pictures on the wall wobble dangerously. Snow hurried over to them worriedly while David snuck a sideways glance at Emma: she was staring numbly at the door, swaying slightly.

David sighed tiredly. “Emma, look…”

She flinched away from him. “I gotta go,” she said in a low voice, crossing the room to get her coat.

“Emma, I think it would be best if you left Henry alone for now—“

“I’m not going to talk to Henry,” Emma said flatly. “He hates me right, he’s not going to let me near him.”

“Then where are you going?” Snow asked, abandoning the pictures as Emma flung open the door. 

“Out,” she said shortly. And the door slammed a second time that night.

Snow stared at the door miserably for a few seconds, then slowly dragged her feet over to David and buried her head in his shoulder. 

“Everything’s such a mess right now,” she said in a muffled voice.

“I know,” David said, feeling the anxiety swell in his chest. “Remember back when we only had to deal with curses and monsters?”

“I miss those days,” Snow wailed.

“Everyone got along so much better,” David said wistfully. “We were all so focused on staying alive, we didn’t worry about all this…drama and stuff. Everyone was just happy to be alive.”

“And now everyone’s determined to be miserable,” Snow sighed. “Oh, my God, David…maybe we should just cancel Thanksgiving this year.”

 

* * *

 

Hook stared at the ceiling, his fingers fiddling with the tie that hung around his neck. Ruby had knotted that for him. That morning. Back when everything was still calm, before all those explosions. Back when all he had to worry about was avoiding Granny in the hallway.

But now everything was falling to shit. Graham was back, and that was doing plenty of damage on its own. Hook didn’t know Graham; didn’t care about Graham; didn’t remotely _like_ Graham. But apparently, he had meant a lot to others in the town, because everyone was getting all up in arms about him being back. Like Emma, and… 

Anyways, that was why Hook and Neal had both decided that they hated Graham. He was confusing everything. Exactly _why_ Henry brought him back, Hook couldn’t figure out for the life of him, but he hoped to God Henry was regretting it, because now they were not only dealing with Graham’s shit, but they also had to face Regina bringing back her mother. 

 _This is exhausting,_ he thought miserably. He had always been a pretty emotional guy, but this was just getting ridiculous. There were too many different things to feel at once, even _he_ was feeling suffocated. He couldn’t imagine what kind of hell Neal was going through. Neal _hated_ emotions: he hated talking about them, thinking about them, acknowledging them, admitting he even _had_ them.

Well, at least he had Regina now. Who was now probably scheming to kill Hook and hide the body in a remote swampland in Georgia where no one would ever find it. In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have hit on her that morning, what with all the emotions running high and arguments breaking out, but Regina provoked him when she had chosen to wear that skirt.

There was a knock at the door, startling him out of his Regina-daydream.

“Ruby?” he said hopefully (pathetically), swinging his legs off the bed and almost tripping in his haste to the door. “Oh, please be Ruby, please be Ruby, please be—ugh. _Emma.”_

“Thanks,” she said, raising her eyebrows. She nodded her head toward the inside. “Can I come in?”

Hook raised an eyebrow, giving her what he secretly referred to as his _quite-the-handsome-devil_ -smirk. “Swan, you know what they say about a lady who invites herself into a man’s room…”

“Oh, I’m ‘Swan’ again, am I?” she said dryly, leaning against the doorframe. “That nickname’s been collecting dust for nearly two years.”

“Yeah, I’spose.” He’d stopped calling her “Swan” and switched to “Emma” right around the time he’d decided to settle into Storybrooke, for whatever reason. He didn’t know why; it had just seemed right.

“So…?” Emma tapped her fingers against the doorframe. “You going to let me in?”

Hook grinned lazily. “That depends.”

“Oh, come on, don’t do that thing,” she complained, making a face.

“What thing?” he frowned. “I’m not doing a thing.”

“Yes, you are,” she said tiredly. “And I’m really not in the mood for it.“

“Oh, I think you’ll find I can get you quite  _in the mood,_ love, if you know what I mean.“

“Oh, God…” Emma shook her head. “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“You presented it to me on a silver platter.” Hook  stood aside to let her in, sweeping his arm. “Go ahead, love, make yourself at home.”

“Thanks,” she said, giving him a weak smile. Hook shut the door as Emma tossed her coat on a chair, kicked off her boots, and leaned back against the pillows on the bed. Hook looked at her staring hopelessly up at the ceiling, fiddling with the swan pendant around her neck.

“You seem to be having a rough time of it,” he said, walking toward her. Emma scooted over to give him room sit down next to her, so they could stare hopelessly up at the ceiling together.

“You, too,” she sighed, and turned her head to look at him. “Would you take that damn tie off already?”

“This is not how a woman usually goes about seducing me, Swan. You’re losing your touch.”

“What the hell do you keep calling me ‘Swan’ for?” 

“I don’t know, it’s been a weird couple of days,” he said wearily. “I’m all mixed up.”

Emma rolled her eyes, pushing herself up to a sitting position, so she could look down at him. “Take the tie off. You’ve been wearing it for nearly three days now.”

“Is this what’s been upsetting you? Are you really that heartbroken over the fact that I’ve been wearing a tie?”

“I can’t _think_ with you wearing that around your neck, it’s—“ Emma let out a frustrated noise, clutching her head with both hands. “Can you just take that damn tie off?”

“Is that _all_ you want me to—?”

“Shut. Up.”

Hook sighed. “Oh, Emma…” he said sadly, shaking his head. “Look at us. Two heartbroken fools. Alone in my bedroom.” He raised his eyebrows, smiling at her deadpan face. “Anything could happen.”

“No. It couldn’t.”

“Then why are you here?” he grinned. “It’s all right, Swan, both of us have things we’d rather not think about for a while. I’m game if you are.”’

“I came here, because I wanted to talk to _Neal_ ,” she said testily. “But he’s not here, and I really just needed to talk to _somebody,_ so…” She flopped her hand at him. “You.”

Hook frowned, sitting up. “You’ve got no business talking to Neal,” he said firmly. “You’ve made a right mess of things for him, you’ve confused him so much he can barely walk straight.”

Emma blinked a few times. “I know, it wasn’t that, it was just…” She looked down at her hands. “I don’t what to do. Henry absolutely hates me right now. I thought Neal could talk to him, try to get through to him, because I just… I don’t what I’m doing, anymore.”

Hook blew out a breath. “Sorry, love, but this is terribly boring. Can we just skip to the part where we get drunk and make mistakes?”

“I can’t help it,” Emma said, as if he hadn’t spoken. “I just get scared every time I start to trust someone, that they’re going to break my heart again, so I just move onto the next shallow fling—“

“No, Emma, you don’t understand. When I said ‘this is terribly boring’, that wasn't meant as an invitation to keep talking about it.” 

“Hook…” Emma closed her eyes exasperatedly. “Can you be a grown-up for two minutes?”

_Can you be a grown-up for, like, two minutes?_

_Two entire minutes? You’re really pushing it, love. I can give you forty seconds, that’s as high as I’ll go._

Hook twirled the tie around his finger. “How about that drink, then?”

“We’re not drinking, and we’re certainly not….” Emma grimaced. Hook raised his eyebrows, smiling.

“It’s all right, Swan, you can say it. You’re not going to offend my virtue.”

“Okay, seriously, what _is_ this?” she said, frowning down at his tie. “Is this about Ruby, or do you have some bizarre sort of fetish no one knows about?”

“Yeah, that’s it. I’m really into _ties,_ Emma. Can’t control myself around them.” He rolled his eyes for good measure, in case she missed the sarcasm. 

Emma squinted her eyes at the tie, as if it had personally offended her. “Just get rid of the damn tie, okay?”

“Why are you fixating on the tie?”

“I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you, and that tie is a distraction! So just—“ she reached her hand out, which Hook immediately slapped away.

“ _Miss Swan!_ ” he gasped mockingly. _“Control_ yourself, woman! You can’t just snap your fingers and expect to have your wanton way with me!” He slapped her hand away again. “I want to be _wooed_.”

“The longer you wear that tie, the longer it’s going to take to get over Ruby,” she said through gritted teeth, still trying to fight past his hand to get to the tie. “I’m doing you a favor!”

“Doing me _would_ be a favor,” he said immediately, ducking as she shot her hand out again. 

“Just— _stop!_ ” Emma lunged forward, making him lean back—and topple off the bed. He scrambled backwards as Emma jumped off the bed, stretching out her hand. 

“No!” He curled over and covered his head with his arms, trying to guard himself from Emma’s attempts to grab the tie.

“This is ridiculous!” Emma said furiously, trying to pry his arms away.

“Why is this so important to you?” he choked.

“Because, Hook!” she cried, dropping her arms. “I hate seeing you like this! You’ve got to move on, this isn’t healthy!”

“Oh, you’re one to talk!” he shot back. “You come in here, ready to bloody violate me to forget about Neal! Or Graham, or whichever new boyfriend you’ve found in the last hour! _Damn it, Emma, that hurt!_ ” he yelped as she dug her fingers underneath the loop from the back of his neck. “What are you doing?”

“I’m— _helping you_!” she said, gritting her teeth from the effort of trying to tear the tie apart. 

“This isn’t helping me, you’re bloody choking me!” he gasped.

There was a horrible _rip!_ ping sound, and a suddenly release of pressure; the little slip of fabric pooled onto the floor, sliding off his neck easily. Hook looked down in horror at the Ruby-tie, covering his mouth with his hand.

“What have you done?” he whispered, his hand falling away. “You’ve ruined it.”

Emma snatched it up and stalked over to the other side of the room to throw it in the trash can. Hook winced when he heard the lid slam shut.

Emma walked back, a sympathetic look slowly replacing the angry one on her face. She bent down next to him, rubbing his shoulder. “You okay?”

“No.”

She smiled faintly. “Magical hug?”

“I’m out of magical hugs.”

Emma looked at him sadly, still rubbing his shoulder. “I know. Me, too.”

“Your hugs aren’t magical, Emma. Don’t try to understand my pain.”

He allowed her to wrap him in a hug, anyway. It wasn’t magical, but he had always been a hugger, so he didn’t complain. They sat on the ground for few minutes, his head leaning into her while she tried to be comforting and stroke his hair (her ring kept getting caught and tugging at the roots, so it was a bit painful at times). 

“Did you love Ruby more than me?” she asked curiously. Hook rolled his eyes.

“And jealousy rears its ugly head.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she scoffed, flicking his head. “I meant, did you love her like me, or was it… different?”

“Are you researching for a young adult novel? Because I strongly encourage you to pursue another dream, you’ll never be successful.”

“I’m trying to be sensitive, okay? _Jesus._ ”

“You’re bad at it.” Hook tugged away from her irritably. “And no, I don’t want to try to be sensitive to your problems, either. Why do we have to talk about it? We’re already going to be miserable! Do we have to be _bored, t_ oo?”

“Do you want me to leave?” Emma asked, standing up as he strode back to the bed, and threw himself against the pillows.

“No, you don’t have to leave. I just don’t want to talk about the fact that Ruby’s gone and crushed my heart to dust, all over that stupid, pathetic, pretty-boy, Graham— _who_ simultaneously provided _you_ with the opportunity to do the same thing to my best friend.”  Hook folded his arms, glaring at the ceiling. “And then that’s gone and made _you_ miserable, so there’s a third reason to hate Graham, even though I really didn’t _need_ a third reason.” 

Emma listlessly swung her fists as she walked around the bed, settling back down on the bed beside him. She didn’t say anything as she tilted her head back, leaning back against the pillows.

“Neal says he’s Shoelace Guy, is that true?”

Emma responded by lifting her left wrist to show him the shoelace she always had wrapped around it. Hook scoffed, shaking his head.

“Awful lot of trouble for a shoelace,” he remarked. 

“He was the first person in this town, besides Henry, I really felt a connection to,” she said softly. “I feel like I owe it to him to be open to…us.”

“Funny,” Hook said, smiling bitterly. “Ruby feels the same way.” 

Emma was silent, but she looked over at him, waiting for him to say something else.

He glanced at her, shaking his head slightly. “What?”

“You think you guys are going to be able to work with him?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “He’s coming back to the station tomorrow.”

“Keep a close eye on him, Swan,” he advised darkly. “Or I might channel Regina and destroy his cells or…I don’t remember everything she said this morning, all right? Just keep an eye on him.”

“You called me ‘Swan’ again.”

“And you destroyed my tie. We’re even.”

 


	26. Chapter 26

“It was an accident!” Aurora wailed, putting her head on the counter. “I don’t know what came over me, but I didn’t mean to, I just—“

“Awesome,” Ruby said, not looking up from her game.  The _Level Failed_ graphic popped up on screen, the little purple squirrel-thing admonishing her for not clearing the board.“Ugh! Stupid chocolate bars!”

“What?” Aurora sniffed, wiping her eyes.

“Nothing,” Ruby sighed, sliding her phone back into her apron. She glanced at the clock: 12:15. Ruby took in a deep breath: he should be here by now, where was he? This was the highlight of her day, he couldn't be—

The bell tinkled as the door open and Graham walked in, immediately sending a smile her way. Ruby waved back, a feeling of relief flooding through her.

It was only Wednesday, only four days since he’d come back, but already he had settled back into his old routine and it just felt _right._ Graham took his morning coffee at the little corner table, just as before, and he spent his lunch break in the same spot. Ruby usually ended up joining him for a few minutes—just to ensure his dining experience was satisfactory, nothing more. After all, she was on the clock, so she was _working—_ engaging in small talk was just an extra service she provided to her customers (provided those customers were impossibly attractive men with swoon-worthy accents who wore the _hell_ out of those skinny jeans).

Ruby beamed at him as she walked over with the coffee pot, abandoning Aurora to wallow alone in her misery of whatever she had been talking about. 

“Coffee?”

“Of course.”

Ruby poured a stream of coffee into Graham’s cup. “There you go.”

“Thanks, Ruby,” he smiled, hooking his finger around the handle.

She shrugged and slid into the seat across from him, studiously ignoring Leroy holding out his empty coffee cup  from the table over. “So,” she said, tracing her finger along the table. “How’s the adjustment phase going?”

“Uh…” Graham chuckled uneasily, scratching his head. “Well, to be honest, it’s still a bit overwhelming. You know, I’m going to be shredding again pretty soon, so I’ve spent these last couple days reviewing all the files from the past few years I was… absent.” He took a sip of coffee. “The files are pretty incomplete, though, so that’s worrying. And then Neal and Hook don’t seem to like me very much.”

“Oh?” Ruby folded her hands, ignoring the little flutter in her stomach. “What happened?”

“No, nothing happened,” he shrugged, tapping the cup with his finger. “But sometimes I catch them, like, _glaring_ at me randomly. And then they’ll notice me looking, and they’ll go back to… whatever it is they do, it doesn't seem to be paperwork.”

Ruby smiled sympathetically. “It’s not your fault, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“I _am_ worrying about it, though,” he sighed. “I feel like I’ve caused a lot of damage just by being here.” He hesitated. “I think I really messed things up between Henry’s parents.”

“Emma and Neal?” Ruby frowned. “Why, what’d you do?”

Graham shifted uncomfortably. “Well, from what Henry’s been telling me over the last couple weeks, his parents were getting back together. And then I showed up, and now there’s this tension between them every time they’re in the same room. And Henry’s been acting off these last few days—“

“It’s not your fault,” Ruby said soothingly, reaching forward to put her hand on his. “I’m serious, Graham. Henry’s like any other kid, of _course_ he wants his parents back together. He’s just upset because things aren’t happening the way he wants them to. But it’s not your fault what happens between Emma and Neal. They’ve got their own issues, it’s not you.”

Graham looked unconvinced. “And then you and Hook…” He rubbed his eyes, shaking his head. “I definitely had a hand in that.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, scoffing. “We would have broken up anyway, sooner or later. Trust me, there’s _always_ something.”

“Always?” Graham raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, we have— _had,_ sorry—a complicated relationship.” Ruby smiled, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Every time we got back together, we broke up in a matter of days. And then by the end of the night, we’d be back together.”

Graham tilted his head. “Why did you keep getting back together if you kept breaking up?”

Ruby blinked a few times. “Just…’cause.” She cleared her throat, standing up suddenly. “So, do you need a room or anything? I could get the book for you.”

“Oh—“ Graham batted his hand, shrugging. “Thank you, but I’m all set.Victor’s letting me stay with him until I find an apartment.”

Ruby frowned. “Victor?” she repeated in confusion. “Victor who?”

“Victor Whale, of course,” he laughed. 

“ _Oh…_ ” Ruby nodded slowly, then gave her head a little shake. “Eww, but why?”

Graham gave her a strange look. “Not the biggest fan of the good doctor, I take it?”

Ruby opened her mouth to answer, but that was the moment Granny chose to rap her knuckles on the counter. 

“Ruby! Leroy’s been waiting for his coffee for ten minutes now!”

“Oh, my God,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as she snatched the pot up. “Sorry, Graham, I have to go— _Leroy_ requires _coffee._ Apparently, it’s a big deal.”

Graham waved a farewell as Ruby spun around and stalked toward Leroy’s table, giving him a withering look. He scowled at her while she poured him his coffee, grunting a “thanks” when she was done. 

“And I’d like to talk to you a moment,” Granny said, peering up from her small stack of papers over the top of her spectacles. Ruby didn’t move.

“Why?”

“Because I need to talk to you.” Granny gave her a stern look, and beckoned for her to follow. Ruby felt a sense of impending doom: private conversations with Granny never ended well. 

Sighing resignedly, she followed Granny into the back, nodding a “hey” at Tony as he lugged a box out of the pantry. Granny held the door open, nodding for Ruby to go inside. Ruby threw her head back, groaning.

“Granny…”

“Inside, Ruby.”

“Gross, no.”

“I’m doing this out of respect for you. I’m trying to give you some privacy, so unless you’d like to hash this out in front of the whole diner—“

“Oh, my God, you _suck!_ ” Ruby pushed past her into the diner, kicking a box to the side so she could lean against the wall. She folded her arms tightly, glaring at Granny as the old woman shut the door behind them. 

“Okay, Ruby,” she sighed, walking toward her slowly. “Let’s talk.”

“Oh, _goody,_ girl talk with _Granny,_ ” she said sarcastically. 

Granny frowned at her. “I’ve been getting some complaints.”

“You should be. That sweater is hideous.”

Granny went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “You’ve been slacking off around here. People aren’t getting their orders. Guests aren't getting their housekeeping services. Even the sugar containers are—“

“Oh, God, not the _sugar containers!_ ” Ruby gasped mockingly.

“Ruby!” Granny snapped. “I’m serious!” Her expression softened into one of concern. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on. And clearly something’s going on because you’re acting like…” She sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Do you need a break from this?”

Ruby’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God, are you firing me because of the sugar containers?”

“No, honey, that’s not what I meant,” Granny said, uncharacteristically soothing. Ruby raised an eyebrow as she put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Okay, you’re freaking me out now,” she said, taking a step back. “You’re all…not-bitchy and stuff. It’s creepy. Unnatural.” She pulled a face. “Oh, God, am I dying or something? Is that what this is? Am I dying?”

“Ruby, I’m just _worried_ about you,” Granny said, shaking her head. “You’ve been so distracted lately, I don’t know if you’re burnt out from work, or if it’s…” She grimaced. “You know, if it’s _boy trouble—_ “

“Boy trouble? Really?” Ruby raised her eyebrows, looking at her dryly. “Do I look like I’m in eighth grade?”

Granny glanced at her skimpy uniform. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Then what _are_ you saying?” Ruby said exasperatedly. “Are you asking me to resign? Or are you firing me?”

“I’m just offering you a break for a few days,” Granny said tiredly. “Just take some time, pull yourself together a little… I know it’s been an emotional week for you, with everything that’s been going on.”

Ruby frowned. The words coming out of Granny’s mouth were English, but she wasn’t understanding. Was this woman—the woman she referred to in her head as “The Slavemaster”— _actually_ suggesting she take a break from work? A _break_?

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “This is a trick, isn't it? You’re trying to see how quick I jump on this, so you can hold it over my head for the rest of my life, aren’t you?” Ooh, she was a devious one, that Granny!

“Look, Ruby,” Granny said testily, clearing running low on her grandmotherly concern. “You’re not working anyway while you’re here, anyway, you might as well take the break. Just take a week off, get your head screwed back on, and come back with a better work ethic.”

“Did Ashley put you up to this?” Ruby demanded. “She wants my tables, doesn’t she? That slut,” she muttered darkly, shaking her head. “This has Ashley written all over it.”

“It’s not Ashley,” Granny said through clenched teeth. “It’s you. You’re not doing your job, and I think it’s because you’re dealing with too many things at once.” She took a deep breath, steeling herself for her next words. “Much as it pains me to admit it, I have a tendency to overwork you. I think it’s starting to show, so…” She flopped her hand. “No guilt, no penalties, no working overtime to make up for it…Just take a break.”

“But…but what am I going to do all day?” Ruby asked, suddenly feeling extremely lost. What did people do when they weren’t pouring coffee and fetching sandwiches? All she’d ever done was work at the diner; what was the outside world _like?_

Granny shrugged. “Up to you.”

Ruby looked at her with wide eyes. “Seriously?”

“You’ll be back next week, so don't get too comfortable,” was all Granny said as she walked out of the pantry. 

For a few minutes, Ruby could only stare after her, her mouth falling open. Her brain tried to absorb the  concept of freedom from Granny’s reign, but it seemed like a myth, like a story village children would tell each other to explain things like volcanoes and thunderstorms. 

Somewhere, it seemed to click in her numb mind that she had just been given the greatest gift Granny could ever give her (besides Bradley Cooper). Thoughts whirled in her hand, juggling all the possibilities her newfound freedom offered her. She could go to medical school! She could go to France! She could traverse the jungles of Africa, or learn to speak Flemish, or invent something really smart-sounding, so that she could get paid a lot of money and have her picture in history books!

 _Yeah, OR I could hang out at the police station and flirt with Graham all day!_ she though excitedly, banishing all other thoughts. Yes. Yes, that would be a valuable use of her time. Graham was far too beautiful to not be flirted, it was just a _waste_ having him cooped up in that station with no one to admire his beauty. Ruby could take care of that. She could help him go through the files that Emma probably screwed up, and keep his spirits up with a few girlish giggles and compliments (guys ate that right up, she knew from experience); and then…well, whatever else happened, happened.

Actually, if she left right now, she could get it happening sooner, so—

“Yeah, okay, I’m out of here,” she said to the empty pantry, tugging off her apron. She tossed it over her shoulder as she pounded up the stairs to her room, looking for something tastefully slutty to wear.

 

* * *

 

“Afternoon, everyone!” Graham called out cheerfully as he strode into the station, back from his lunch break. Neal and Hook rolled their eyes at each other, while Emma called out a, “Hey, Graham,” from her office. 

He had only been working with Graham for a couple days now, but it was already more than Neal could stand. He was always smiling or humming or saying nice things—it wasn’t _normal._

“Neal. Hook.” Graham nodded a greeting at each of them before going to his makeshift desk (a foldout table that had several stacks of old paperwork he was working his way through). He would sit there for hours, a frown etched on his face as he tried to make sense of their incomplete notes and doodles in the margins. 

Every so often, Emma would come out with another stack of papers she found in the filing cabinet, pause to make polite small talk, and disappear back into her office. She’d been taking the “carefully neutral” approach recently; Neal didn’t know the whole story, but according to Hook, she and Henry had had a massive argument a few nights ago that ended in slamming doors and a few tears. Since then, she’d retreated into a polite aloofness around him and Graham.

Graham, on the other hand, was ridiculously friendly to everyone. Hook didn’t bother trying to play nice with him, although he kept his insults and quips to a muttered undertone; Neal tried to avoid talking to him whenever possible, giving one-word responses and shrugs. 

Probably the worst thing about Graham working at the station was that they could no longer wile away the hours with online gladiator games and YouTube. Now they had to pretend to be struggling through paperwork. And sometimes, he got so bored, Neal actually _did_ the paperwork. It was horrible. It was like…having a job. The station had never been such a miserable place.

And it was all Graham’s fault. That bitch.

Neal rubbed his eyes, and tried to find the report on Leroy’s broken window interesting. The words had already started to blur together into meaningless smudges of ink, but now that Graham had returned from his break, he had to at least pretend to be working, or he would find some infuriatingly diplomatic way of showing his disapproval. Hook, meanwhile, was pretending to be studying something very important on the computer, even though he was really focusing on the small window of Solitaire open beside the spreadsheet. 

Neal’s eyes lost focus on the report; a nap wouldn't be out of order right now. He hadn’t slept well for a while, and Leroy’s grievances were so dull (and no one even liked Leroy anyway, so what did he care about his broken window?). 

His phone buzzed, startling him awake. Neal blinked a few times, and swiped his screen to open the text message from… Hook? 

_He’s irritating me._

Neal glanced up. Hook turned his head, grimacing as he ever so slightly jutted his head toward Graham, who was humming as he read through an old report. Neal rolled his eyes in agreement and typed back: _I feel like he has small rodents living in his hair._

Hook snorted loudly, making Graham look up.

“Something funny?”

Hook’s smile faded into a sour line. “No.”

Graham raised  his eyebrows, but went back to his papers silently. Hook curled his lip, exchanging a look with Neal, before turning back to his non-work.

He got another text a minute later: _We should kill him._

Neal frowned. _That got dark pretty quickly._

_I’ll do it. I’ve still got my sword somewhere in my room._

_Murder is against the law, and you work in law enforcement._

_I’ll quit my job._

_It’s still illegal in this world._

_Goddamn it._

Hook tossed his phone on the desk, and went back to Solitaire. Neal went back to Leroy’s report, and tried to drift off to sleep. 

“Hi!”

Neal’s eyes flew open, his head swiveling toward the door to see Ruby walking in, a bright smile on his face. Instantly, he looked back at Hook, who was staring at her, the blood drained from his face. 

“Ruby?” Graham rose out of his seat, a confused smile on his face. “What’s wrong? Did I forget something at the diner.”

“ _No…_ ” she said, beaming as she put her hands behind her back. 

 _“_ Then… why are you here?” Graham asked, still smiling vaguely.

Ruby’s smile widened. “Granny decided to give me a little vacation out of nowhere, so I thought I’d drop by and see if I could, you know, help you out or something here.”

“Oh!” Graham’s eyebrows flew up. “Uh…o-okay.”

“Great!” she said enthusiastically, sliding her coat off and hanging it up. Neal snorted, wondering how long she’d labored over that outfit before “dropping by”: shiny black leggings with a strategically-cut black top, the blood red pendant of her necklace nestled right… _there._  

“ _Subtle_ , Ruby. Really subtle,” Neal muttered, shaking his head. She pretended not to hear him, going over to Graham’s workspace and picking up a random file.

Hook managed to recover a minute later, going back to his usual snarky self: he lazily spun around his chair, propping his feet up on the desk and folding his arms. 

“Don’t you look lovely today,” he drawled, looking her up and down. Ruby glanced over, raising her eyebrows coolly.

“Thanks.”

“Yes, you pull off that Cat-Woman look ten times better than Halle Berry,” Hook said, smiling spitefully. 

Ruby copied his smile. “And you pull it off even better than me.”

If that was meant to faze him, it didn’t. “Well, I appreciate the effort, darling, but you didn’t have to get all dolled up just for me.”

“I didn’t,” she said witheringly.

“Well, you were getting dolled up for someone. A woman dressed like _that—“_ Hook gave her outfit a meaningful look—“does so with a purpose. Don’t you agree, Graham?”

Graham looked startled at being pulled into the conversation. “Erm…”

“Kind of like how a guy who won’t spring for the third button even in the middle of November does so with a purpose?” Ruby returned sweetly.

Hook raised his eyebrows smugly. “You never complained.”

“How would you know?” Ruby said scathingly, folding her arms. “You never listened to me.”

“That’s not true,” he frowned. “Ruby, your voice carries clear across town. _Everyone_ listens to you.”

Ruby glared at him. “I’m going to start spitting in your order.”

Hook laughed. “Well, I’m sure when you finally deliver it to me an hour later, I’ll be very upset.”

“Anyway,” Graham said loudly as Ruby opened her mouth to retort. “This paperwork is piling up, maybe we should get back to work.”

Hook flashed Ruby a sardonic smile before turning back to his computer, sliding his feet lazily off the desk. Ruby rolled her eyes disdainfully, and turned back to the paperwork. Neal wondered if she actually knew what she was doing, or if she was just looking for an excuse to perch herself strategically on Graham’s desk (his money was on the latter). 

The door opened, and Emma came out with another box. “So, Graham, here’s the stuff from…” She frowned at Ruby looking through files, and continued walking more slowly toward the desk. “From last December,” she finished, still giving Ruby a strange look.

“Thanks, Emma,” Graham said, taking the box in his hands. “Hope these ones are a little more thorough.”

“Don’t count on it,” Neal said absently, giving up on the pretense of working to play on his phone. 

“Ruby, what are you doing here?” Emma frowned. “Shouldn’t you be back at the diner?”

“Granny gave me a break, I’m hanging out with Graham,” Ruby said, not looking up from the file. “Maybe if we work together, we can get this done faster and get out of here,” she added, nudging Graham with her boot.

“That’s a euphemism, Graham,” Hook said. Graham smiled uncomfortably.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to get out of here any time soon, Ruby,” he said, ignoring Hook’s comment as well as he could. “I’ve got so much to get through.”

“Hmm,” she sighed, setting down her papers to toss her hair over her shoulder. Hook’s head turned a fraction of an inch. “Well, if you want to stay _late…_ maybe I could bring something by.”

“ _Ahem,_ ” Emma said, giving Ruby an icy smile. Ruby flicked her eyes up, her smile souring.

“Yeah?” she said, her voice suddenly void of the breathy quality it had when she was talking to Graham.

“Do you think you could discuss your plans later? Graham’s got a lot of work to do.”

Ruby frowned. “We’re talking about _work_ plans.”

Neal coughed into his elbow to mask his laughter. “Sorry,” he rasped when Ruby shot him a dirty look. “Allergies.”

“Do you want me to get you a chair, Ruby?” Emma asked tensely. “Since you insist on staying here?”

“I’m fine, thanks, Emma,” she said lightly. “Graham doesn’t mind, do you, Graham?”

“Lots of paperwork,” Graham murmured noncommittally, though his ears turned bright red.

“Oh!” Ruby clapped her hands together. “I forgot, I wanted to ask you…” She trailed off, waiting for Graham to prod her on. 

He obliged. “Yes?”

“Um…” Ruby suddenly became very shy, smiling up at him from under her eyelashes. “Do you have plans for Thanksgiving? I was going to invite you to have it with me and Granny, if you weren’t doing anything. I mean, I wouldn't want you to be alone on Thanksgiving….” And then Neal _swore_ he heard her add in a low voice, “Or in general.”

Graham smiled awkwardly. “Um—“

“Actually, _I_ was going to invite him over,” Emma said, narrowing her eyes at Ruby. “You know, he and my mom were such great friends, and I’m sure he’d love a chance to catch up with her, wouldn't you, Graham?”

“Well—“

“But _we_ never had a chance to bond like he did with ‘your mom’,” Ruby said, using her fingers to make air-quotes, so that everyone knew she was actually talking about Emma. “And some of us might like to bond in that way with him.”

“Be more obvious. I dare you,” Hook said, leaning back in his chair as he swiveled toward them. Ruby spared him a look of disgust, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge him. 

“I think Graham should decide where he wants to spend Thanksgiving,” Emma said, taking a threatening step toward Ruby. 

“Yes,” Ruby agreed, her eyes glittering coldly. “I think he should, too.”

“Actually, I was going to spend Thanksgiving at home, this year,” Graham said, talking over Emma before she had a chance to say something else. “But you’re all welcome to come by.”

Emma and Ruby forgot their stare-down, and looked round at him in surprise. Graham smiled, a bit shyly.

“I, uh… I taught myself to cook over the last few weeks,” he said, keeping his eyes down modestly. 

 _Oh, fantastic,_ Neal thought dryly. _He cooks, too._

“You mean…come over to _your_ house for Thanksgiving? As in…” Ruby looked uncomfortable. “Like, Dr. Whale’s house?”

“Oh, yeah, Victor won’t mind,” he reassured her, batting his hand. “You guy are more than welcome to come by, we’d love to have you.”

“Uh… wow,” Emma said, blinking. “That’s really…wow.” She laughed a little. “I mean, I’ll run it by my parents, they’ll probably want to bring you half a feast—“

“Well, that’s fine,” Graham shrugged, and smiled brightly between the two of them. “What about you, Ruby? Think you and your gran could make it?”

“Yep,” she said immediately. “I’ll make you my famous…uh….” She frowned at the ceiling, clearly trying to think of a famous something she could make. “Whatever.”

Graham raised his eyebrows. “That sounds… delicious.”

“Hang on, hang on!” Hook said, affronted. “Emma, you can’t go. What about me?”

Emma shook her head, shrugging. “What about you?”

Hook made an indignant noise. “Well, where am I supposed to go?”

“Oh, you and Neal are more than welcome,” Graham said, smiling genially. “If you want, that is.”

Hook considered Graham for a minute before turning his head to Neal. “What do you think, mate? D’you want to?”

 _Not even a little bit._ Neal scratched his head, trying to think of a nice way to say _“hells no”._ “Uh…”

“Let’s discuss for a moment, shall we?” Hook stood up suddenly, and in a matter of seconds, he was grabbing Neal by the elbow and leading him outside to the hall. Neal stumbled after him, startled by the abruptness of it all.

“Jesus, man!” he said once they were outside, trying to slow his rapidly beating heart. “Would it have been too much to wait two seconds for me to get out of my own chair? You didn't _have_ to yank me out like that.”

Hook ignored him, frowning as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “What say you, Neal?”

“What _say_ me? What are you talking about?”

“Graham!” Hook said impatiently, dropping his hand. “Don’t you understand the mind games he’s playing?” He didn't wait for Neal to answer before leaning in conspiratorially, looking at him intently. “He’s trying to get our women alone, to himself. And inviting us? That was tossing the gauntlet. He’s _challenging_ us to fight for them.”

Neal stared at him for a moment. “Are you _insane?_ ” he hissed. “Tossing the gauntlet? Challenging—? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Hook shook his head, frowning. “I don’t understand.”

“You get so theatrical about everything, can’t you ever just act normal?” Neal rubbed his eyes exasperatedly. “Look, I honestly think he was just trying to be polite, okay? We don’t have to go over there—“

“Yes, we do!” Hook insisted furiously. “Damn it, Neal, I’m not going to let him steal Ruby from me, and I’m not going to let him steal Emma from you! He’s building a bloody harem!”

“Okay, don’t say it like that,” Neal said, making a face. “That just sounds weird.”

“Will you come with me, yes or no?” Hook said, staring him dead in the eye. Neal raised an eyebrow.

“Dude, you just asked me out.”

Hook rolled his eyes. “Stop flattering yourself, Neal, this isn't the time.”

“I’m not flattering myself. I’m just saying, that was a weird way to phrase it.”

“Neal, please!” he snapped. “I’m serious.”

Neal groaned, tilting his head back. “No, I really don’t want to.”

“Oh, _please?_ ” Hook whined. “ _Please,_ Neal? I can’t go by myself, I’ll look pathetic.”

“I was going to spend the day with Regina and Henry,” Neal sighed. “I can’t.”

“Then bring them!” Hook said, looking at him with wide eyes. “Just bring them, it’ll be one great big happy family! Plus, some people who hate the ever-loving shit out of each other,” he added, shrugging. 

“No, I really don’t want to.”

“Neal, please. You’re the only family I—“

“That’s not going to work.”

“But you’re my best—“

“Neither is that.”

Hook huffed, glaring at him. Neal stared back, raising his eyebrows coolly. Hook grimaced, reluctant to utter his next words. 

“I’ll pay you fifty bucks.”

“Done.”

 


	27. Chapter 27

“You did what?” 

“Oh, Victor, come on,” Graham said, reaching for a can of cranberry sauce to toss in the cart. “It’ll be fun.”

“Fun?” Whale repeated incredulously. “Are you _insane?_ ”

Graham made an exasperated noise, and pushed the cart down the aisle. Whale was not to be deterred: he followed Graham, keeping up a steady stream of reasons why inviting people over for Thanksgiving was the most ridiculously awful idea anyone in the history of mankind ever had (other than casting Ryan Reynolds as the Green Lantern, seriously _what_ were they thinking?!). 

“Do you know how fucked up that family is? Did you _meet_ Henry?”

“So, he’s a little bitter,” Graham shrugged, bending down to compare prices between two brands of bread crumbs. “He’s a teenager. It happens.”

“He’s going to end up a fucking psychopath!” Whale practically sobbed. “His family is so dysfunctional, they make the Lannisters look fucking _normal!_ ”

“I don’t know who that is,” Graham said absently, frowning at a box of Panko.

“And you invited _Hook_ and _Neal_ to be in the same room as _Ruby_ and _Emma?_ Christ, Graham, even _I_ know that’s a bad idea! It’s going to end in a fucking bloodbath!”

“Victor….” Graham sighed, standing back up, tossing the breadcrumbs into the cart. “Hook and Neal hate me, okay? I figured if I invited them, we could try to mend our differences.” 

“You invited them to watch their ex-girlfriends drool over you!” Whale exclaimed frustratedly. “You think that’s going to mend differences? Are you fucking _high?_ ”

“Okay, you have to stop cursing so much,” Graham said in a low voice, looking around furtively. “There are children here.”

“And Regina’s liable to set the place on fire, if she thinks someone looks at her funny! I mean, did you think this through at _all?_ ”

“Victor!” Graham threw a box of cornbread mix down angrily. “I’ve never spent Thanksgiving with other people! It would be _nice_ to not be alone during the holidays for once!”

“It’s _great_ being alone on the holidays!” Whale insisted, following him to the turkeys. “You don’t have to cook, you don’t have to dress up—you just sit there in your pajamas with your LeanCuisine and watch as much _Star Wars_ as you want! Doesn't that sound wonderful?”

Graham frowned. “That sounds pathetic,” he said firmly. “We’re not doing that.”

“Graham, _please….”_

 

* * *

 

 

“Neal!” Regina gasped, staring at him with wide, horrified eyes. “Why in the name of God did you agree to this?”

“Aw, come on, ’Gina,” Neal shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. “It won’t be that bad.”

“ _Don’t_ call me ‘Gina’!” she said fiercely, throwing down the dish towel. “I told you, I _loathe_ nicknames.” 

She leaned back against the seat, folding her arms tightly as she glared at him. Neal looked back at her for a moment, silently pleading. Regina slit her eyes. Was he _insane?_ She couldn’t spend the day in the same house as _Graham!_ They could barely stand to be in the same _town_ as the other!

She hadn’t given Neal the specifics of their…relationship (you simple didn't discuss things like that with…well, anyone, really, but _especially_ not your brother), but she had made it more than clear that her new goal in life was to avoid Graham. _Forever._ And then Neal turns around and gets them invited to his house for Thanksgiving? Really, Neal? _Really, Neal?_

“I thought it was going to be me, you, and Henry,” she said wearily. “Away from…the peasants.”

Neal frowned, tilting his head. “Okay, so I can’t tell if you’re joking or not when you say ‘peasants’.

“And now you want me to spend the day with _Graham?_ ” she wailed. “Why? Why would you do this to me?”

“Regina…” Neal exhaled in frustration, and started pacing around the counter. “Look, you’re supposed to spend Thanksgiving with your family, okay? It’s just what you _do._ David and Snow are going to be there. Emma’s going to be there. _Our_ dad is going to be there.” He raised his eyebrows, shaking his head slightly. “That’s where we should be.”

Regina frowned. Neal wasn't sentimental. He didn’t care about holiday traditions. And he wasn't even putting in  that much effort to lie to her—she didn’t know what that meant; it just kind of irritated her. 

So, what did he want to go to Graham’s for? He didn’t even _like_ Graham. What was he playing at? 

She studied him critically, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. Neal immediately put up his defense: a blank, but innocent stare, unblinking in the face of her challenge. Regina nearly smiled: he was good, yes… but she was better.

“Emma,” she said, narrowing her eyes shrewdly. “This is because of Emma.”

Neal didn’t pretend to be caught off guard, or pull the _I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about-_ routine. “Yeah, it’s because of Emma,” he shrugged.

Regina blinked. “Well, you didn’t put up much of a fight.”

“Yeah, I’m tired,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Hook was monologuing all day, talking about gauntlets and shit… I _don’t know_ ,” he said, seeing Regina open her mouth. “He was going all Count of Monte Cristo  on me, I stopped listening.”

“Was Hook the one who put this idea in your head?” Regina slit her eyes. “Please say yes, I think that would count as cause for ‘justifiable murder’.”

Neal pulled a stool out and sat down, leaning his elbows on the counter.  “Look… Emma and me, I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know  what’s in her head right now, what she’s doing, but…” He made a face, and looked up at her, a pleading look in his eyes. “Okay, can I just assume you know what I’m trying to say without me actually saying it?”

“Yes, yes, assume away,” she said hastily, not wanting to get into the details of Neal’s emotions. “Bu the doesn’t change the fact that—“

“Regina, please,” Neal closed his eyes, grimacing as he heard the desperation in his own voice. “I don’t ask you for much, can’t you just do this one thing for me?”

Regina looked at him helplessly. “Neal…”

“ _Please?”_

She looked him for a long time, a worried frown on her face. She really didn't want to. She really, _really_ didn't want to. But…

“Fine,” she sighed. “But _you_ have to tell Henry.” 

 

* * *

 

“You’re not seriously going tomorrow?”

Hook turned around in his seat, raising his eyebrows. Ruby stood behind him, glowering. It was a bit strange to see her in standing in the diner without holding a tray or wearing her infamous uniform. 

“I most certainly am,” he replied after a minute. “Graham invited me, didn’t he?”

Ruby slid into the seat across from him, looking at him with such venom and loathing, he instinctively flinched. 

“I know why you’re doing this,” she said icily. “Don’t think I don’t know what this is.”

“And what is that?” Hook smiled wryly, waving his fork around. “I’m sure you’ve found _some_ way to make this about you.”

“Oh, shut _up,_ ” Ruby said witheringly. “And if you think that you’re going to come over and sabotage my relationship with Graham—“

Hook choked, coughing violently enough to need a sip of water. “Your _relationship?”_

“That’s right.”

“So… that embarrassing display in the station earlier, that was your relationship?” he said dubiously. 

Ruby narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Not all relationships are as stupidly shallow as ours was. Graham and I were friends for _years_ before either of us ever made a move. _Years._ ” 

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t realize I was intruding,” Hook said, tossing his fork down with a clatter. “He didn’t seem very interested in you.”

Ruby’s gaze flickered. “Is that so?”

“Actually, it’s funny,” he said, frowning up at the ceiling. “Because from what Neal told me, I assumed it was _Emma_ Graham was interested in, not you.” He looked at Ruby in mock dawning comprehension, and snapped his fingers. _“Oh…_ Maybe _that’s_ why he barely glanced at when you were flipping your hair and batting your eyes.” He smirked. “Rest assured, darling, _I_ still commend you for your efforts.”

“Well, that means a lot. You know, coming from the guy who kind of became an expert on that after spending two years doing the exact same thing around Emma.” Ruby smiled viciously. “Oh. How _interesting._ ”

Hook picked up his fork, suddenly finding renewed interest in his fish. He took a few bites, carefully avoiding her gaze. 

“This is terrible,” he remarked after a time.

“You always get the fish,” she said exasperatedly. “I told you to stop getting the fish, Tony doesn't know how to cook fish properly.”

“Can Tony do _anything_?” Hook threw the fork down. “My God, _I_ could do better than this.”

Ruby snorted. “No, you couldn’t.”

“No, I couldn’t,” he agreed, shrugging. He chanced a glance up at Ruby, whose face had settled into more of a “mildly irritated” than “fury of a thousand vengeful gods” expression. “So…are we back together again?”

She stared at him. “Where do you get ‘back together again’ from a conversation about fish?”

He shrugged again.

Ruby was silent for a moment, tapping her fingers on the table. “Hook,” she said, her voice careful and tense. “I’m not getting back together with you, okay? For the _last time,_ I am _not_ getting back together with you.”

“But why?” he pressed, cringing internally at how whiny his voice sounded. 

“Because!” she said desperately, throwing her hands up. “This isn't _good,_ what we have! It’s not what a relationship is supposed to be! We fight all the time, we can’t _stand_ each other! Why would you want that back?”

Hook carefully started mutilating his fish with his fork, not looking at Ruby. “Just…’cause.”

“Oh, well, that’s _very_ romantic.” 

He frowned up at her. “I didn’t know you were looking for _romantic._ You didn’t give me instructions this time.”

She slit her eyes at him, leaning back and folding her arms. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he said acidly. “It’s not supposed to be calling you demanding or controlling or naggy or imply that every time something doesn't go your way, you lose your shit. It’s not supposed to mean that every time you broke up with me, it was over something completely stupid that you overreacted about—“

“Not _every_ time!” Ruby hissed. “I broke up with you at the party for a perfectly good reason, so stop moping around like a tragic little hero!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Hook flared, not caring as several people turned around in surprise.

“Yes, you _did!_ You acted like a jealous asshole, it was _humiliating!_ ” Ruby pushed herself up, shoving the table away from her. “You’re the reason why Graham is acting so weird around me, you’re ruining _everything!_ ”

“Maybe he’s just not interested!” Hook said fiercely, glaring back. “Is it possible, Ruby? Is there even the _slightest_ chance that Graham doesn't care for you that way!” He stood up, matching her furious gaze. “Take it from me, love, you’ll want to wake up from that dream sooner rather than later. Don’t waste two years of your life on it.”

Ruby blinked a few times, taken aback. Hook glared back, then lowered his eyes down to the plate of half-smushed fish.

“And for God’s sake, fire Tony already. He’s rubbish.”


	28. Chapter 28

Henry sleepily stumbled downstairs, rubbing his eyes. There was the familiar jumble of morning noises: the coffee brewing, plates clattering, Robin’s and Roland’s voices overlapping as Regina sizzled something in a pan. Henry made his way into the kitchen, vaguely registering that Regina had already turned on the Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“Hey, Mom,” he yawned, giving her a side-hug. “Hey, Robin.”

“Morning, Henry,” Robin said, trying to coax Roland into eating a piece of toast.

“Hey, buddy.”

Henry turned around in surprise to see Neal grinning at him from the counter, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Hey,” he said, blinking a few times. “You’re here early.”

“Regina makes better coffee than Granny’s,” Neal explained, taking a sip. 

Henry made a noise of agreement as he poured himself a cup. He took a minute to take a few sips and wake up a little more before pulling out a chair and sitting down.

Roland turned his head, his finger swirling around his mouth. Henry made a face, looking at the greasy toast residue around his lips. Roland blinked at him a few times, his forehead creasing.

“Henwy?”

“What?”

“Cookie?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Cookie?”

“I don’t _have_ any.”

“Cookie?”

“Oh, my God. Do we _have_ to take him with us tonight?”

Robin took Roland’s face in one hand to wipe it clean. “Well, I can’t leave him at home, can I?”

“Why not?” Henry muttered into his cup. 

“Speaking of tonight,” Regina said, pulling out the seat next to Henry. “We need to lay down some ground rules.”

“What, for me?” Henry looked at her in surprise. “What am I going to do?”

“I don’t know. You’re kind of a wild card lately.” Regina looked at him sternly. “I know you’re having a bout of teenage angst with Emma.”

Henry opened his mouth to explain, but Regina held up her hand.

“I don’t know everything. I don’t _want_ to know everything, because that’s between you and Emma. But I also don’t want tonight to turn into a big dramatic thing with slamming doors and angry-teenager-expressions, okay? Not if we’re at someone else’s house. I don’t care what you do at David and Snow’s place: you can keep them up all night with screaming and shouting, you can slam as many doors as you want. But tonight, if you feel like you’re going to lose your temper—“ Regina raised her eyebrows, looking at him intently—“ _don’t._ Do you understand?”

Henry nodded silently. Regina gave him a nod of approval and went back to her coffee. 

“Actually, I do have some questions, if you don’t mind,” Robin said, giving up on trying to clean Roland’s face. “This Graham…no one will really give me a straight answer.”

Regina’s jaw tensed. “Go on.”

“What is he, like an ex-boyfriend or something?” he asked, crinkling his brow. Henry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to block out as much of the conversation as he could.

Regina had admitted to him that at one point, she had been having an affair with Graham. She obviously had been as vague as humanly possible about everything, but she had also mentioned that it had been an “unhealthy situation”. That had been the part where Henry had put up his hand and said loudly, “O _kay,_ that is plenty of information! Thank YOU!”

“Um…” Regina looked at Robin, struggling for words. “….Kind of?”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “He’s _kind of_ an ex-boyfriend? What does that mean?”

“Robin,” Neal said loudly. 

“Hmm?”

Neal jutted his head toward Henry, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. Robin’s mouth formed a small “o”. 

“So… later, then?”

“Later,” Regina agreed, grimacing. 

The rest of breakfast passed much more smoothly as everyone turned their attention to the parade, pretending to be interested in the big, blown-up cartoon characters that no one actually cared for. Roland was delighted, clapping and giggling in the obnoxious way young children do. Henry propped his head up with one hand, watching with half-lidded as eyes as the latest teen pop star belted out a poorly-covered, synthesized rendition of “Frosty the Snowman”.

“I _loathe_ this song,” Robin said unexpectedly, glaring at the screen. The other three turned their heads, looking at him in surprise. He glanced at them, frowning slightly. “What?”

“You hate ‘Frosty the Snowman’?” Henry said in disbelief. “Dude, you’re, like, the nicest person in the world. How can you hate a Christmas song?”

“I just don’t understand why this song is supposed to be charming,” Robin said, folding his arms.”It’s annoying, it’s obnoxious, the lyrics are completely stupid—“

“It’s for _kids,_ ” Neal said, staring at him.

“And it _sucks._ ” Robin shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I have to put my foot down on this one. This is the _worst_ Christmas song ever made, and they perform it every year, like some sort of ritualistic torture routine.”

“You have no Christmas joy,” Neal said, shaking his head. “You cynical bastard.”

“I’m not cynical!” Robin protested. “I just don’t think a talking snowman is endearing!”

“No one thinks it’s endearing! There is a silent agreement between everyone over the age of—Henry, where you going?” Neal interrupted himself as Henry got up from the table.

“Upstairs, I guess. I don’t know,” he shrugged, turning to leave.

“Hang on,” Neal said, making his way across the room. Henry raised a quizzical eyebrow as Neal put his hand on his shoulder and guided him to the family room. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Okay,” Henry said uncertainly, taking a seat on the couch. Neal sat down beside him, rubbing his hands nervously. “What’s up?”

Neal blew out a breath, his hands still twitching about. Henry frowned: his dad really wasn't the nervous type. Something had to be wrong. And that made Henry nervous. 

“Dad?” 

“Yeah, uh…” Neal looked up at the ceiling, bracing himself. He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes briefly, then turned to Henry. “Okay, Henry, you know I try to stay out of your personal business and everything, but I got to break my rule this one time.”

“Okay…” Henry raised an eyebrow. “Shoot.”

Neal looked him dead in the eye. “You and your mom. What’s the deal?”

“We haven't made an official _deal_ per se, but from what I understand, she’s going to help me with magic and I—“

“You know I’m talking about Emma.”

Henry closed his mouth, eyeing him warily. “Nothing,” he said at last. “Just a stupid fight.”

Neal raised his eyebrows. “Yes, I’m totally buying that.”

“It’s nothing,” Henry said, shifting his eyes away. Why was he doing this? They didn't talk about feelings, not like this. They didn’t do heart-to-hearts. It was one of Henry’s favorite things about Neal: he never pressured him to divulge all his personal thoughts and feelings, like everyone else did. He simply respected the fact that Henry was dealing with things like any other person, and sometimes he acted a little harsher for it. 

“Look, I wouldn't bring it up, but Hook told me—“

“What does _he_ know?” Henry said derisively. 

“She was desperate enough to ask _Hook_ for advice, Henry,” Neal said deliberately. “What does that tell you?”

Henry rubbed his eyes. “It’s just…” He made a frustrated noise. “God, Dad, I don’t know, okay? I just flew off the handle the other day, can we just leave it at that?”

Neal exhaled slowly. “Does it have anything to do with Graham?”

Henry pulled at a loose string. “Ish.”

“If it helps, I don’t like him, either,” Neal said bluntly. “He’s freakishly nice. It’s frightening.”

“Mom doesn’t seem to think so,” Henry grumbled, still pulling the string.

“That’s because he’s what you call _dreamy,_ ” Neal said, smiling tightly. “And apparently, he and Emma go _way_ back, they’ve got this emotional connection thing or whatever.”

“Douchebag.”

“He is, Henry. He is,” he said wisely, nodding his head. 

“He’s ruining everything.”

Neal looked at the ground, frowning slightly. “Yeah, about that….”

“What?” Henry said flatly, raising his eyes. Neal offered him a half-hearted smile.

“Look, kid…even if Graham wasn't in the mix… there’s no guarantee that your mom and I would—”

“I _get_ it,” Henry said, falling back on the couch. Why did everyone keep telling him that? He wasn’t six years old, he understood perfectly well that “ _sometimes mommies and daddies didn't get along, but that didn't mean that they didn’t love him”._ He knew there was a dwindling chance of his parents getting back together, especially now with Police Officer Pretty-Boy there. Did that mean he wasn't allowed to get frustrated? Emma had this whole emotional-walls thing going on. Henry had broken through them; and he’d seen her let other people in: Snow and David, maybe even a little Hook and Regina. 

Neal, on the other hand, seemed to have one foot in and one foot out—like she kept pulling him in and pushing him out. Henry didn't know everything between them, but he watched from the sidelines as she tugged him back and forth. Emma didn’t seem to care that what she did had an effect on the other person—or maybe she just didn't realize. And the truly frustrating thing was that Neal seemed to do the same thing. He had let Henry in, had let Hook in; even his father, who he thought he’d never forgive, was redeeming himself. But Emma had a foot in and a foot out. And every time he tried to let her in, she backed out; and every time she tried to let him in, _he_ backed out; and so on and so forth.

They were so alike, so infuriatingly similar, and they didn't even realize it. It drove Henry nuts, watching his parents break each other down, simply because they couldn't get over their neuroticism and trust the other. And now Graham was _really_ confusing things, and everything was falling to shit and getting all weird and awkward and complicated, so _yes,_ it was a little bit _frustrating._

“You know what, Dad,” Henry heard himself say. “I’m sure it’s just some standard ten angst, okay? Next week, I’ll go totally emo, break out the black nail polish and eyeliner, grow my bangs out—it’ll be fun.”

“Henry,” Neal said exasperatedly as Henry got up from the couch, walking toward the stairs. “I’m trying to help.”

Henry pulled his mouth back in a fake smile. “Great. Ask Hook for some eyeliner tips, then—don’t say it’s me asking.”

 

* * *

 

 

“ _And now, everyone, Santa Claus is coming to town! Here he is, coming down in the North Pole float, jingling those bells! We’ve got Mrs. Claus in the front here…!”_

Emma watched with half-lidded eyes as Al Roker delightedly announced every detail of the Santa Claus float. David and Snow were in the kitchen, preparing one of David’s fancy dessert recipes (something French-sounding, really fancy). And since Neal and Regina had really taken to the sibling thing, and Henry had decided to spend the morning with them, Emma had watched the entire parade by herself.

She’d been disappointed: she’d been hoping at least Hook would come over, but he hadn't shown up, either. Where was he? Not with Neal, she hoped. She didn't think she’d be able to stand it if they were all hanging out without her, and she had to be stranded here with her _parents_.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket, idly texting Hook: _Where are you? I’m bored. Come be bored with me._

She put the phone down on the table, and watched Santa wave at people and pretend to be jolly while Al Roker continued to marvel at the scene. She was vaguely wondering whether or not Roker knew that he wasn't _actually_ Santa Claus when her phone buzzed.

_On my way._

Emma smiled half-heartedly, and tossed her phone back on the table. She wished Henry was here. They could have mocked the ever-loving shit out of the parade, just like they did every year. Together. As a family. 

The parade was just wrapping up when there was a knock at the door.

“Could you get that, Emma?” David yelled over the sound of the mixer.

“Yep,” she said, hopping off the couch and going over to the door. She tugged it open to see a less-than-chipper Hook standing outside, wearing one of Neal’s scarves around his neck. Emma raised an eyebrow.

“You better get that back in his room before he notices it’s gone,” she told him, stepping aside so he could walk in.

“I’ve commandeered it. This scarf is mine now,” Hook declared, walking into the kitchen. Snow entirely ignored him; David looked over and gave him a bro-nod, before going back to his concoction. Hook wandered over, frowning into the bowl.

“What is that?” he asked, sniffing dubiously.

“Get out of here,” David said, swatting him away. “Come on, get out.”

Hook held up his arms in mock surrender, walking backward around the counter. Emma dropped into the stool next to him, leaning her elbows on the counter. 

“So,” she said. “You talk to Neal?”

“Not a lot,” Hook said vacantly, watching David beat eggs. “A little last night, but that was…” He trailed off, transfixed as David poured foamy egg whites into the bowl. “So fluffy,” he said in wonder. “So…fluffy.”

“What did you talk about last night?” Emma asked, trying not to sound too eager. It wasn't like she was hoping that Neal had confided anything in Hook about her or Henry or the Graham-situation… except she really really really was. “Hook?” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. 

Hook blinked at few times, shaking his head to clear it. “What? What do you want?”

“What did you talk about last night?” she repeated patiently.

“Oh.” Hook rolled his eyes. “Nothing about you, love, don’t worry.”

“Hey,” she frowned, lightly hitting his shoulder. “Don’t get sassy.”

Hook propped his chin on his folded elbows.“I’m not being sassy.”

“You are. And you’re pouting.”

“Not pouting, either,” he said stubbornly. “I’m broken-hearted.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Again?”

“Not _again_ ,” Hook said, turning his head toward her. _“Still._ ” 

He closed his eyes, giving a forlorn sigh, and buried his head in his arms. Emma looked at David helplessly. He glanced up, shaking his head. _I don’t have time for this,_ his eyes said.

Emma looked at him pleadingly, but David shook his head again, gesturing toward his mixture. Emma looked down at the top of Hook’s head, heaving a sigh.

“You want to talk about it? I think we still have a couple hours before we have to go.”

“Doubt that’s going to be enough time,” Hook said miserably, correctly interpreting what she wasn’t saying, but got up from his stool nonetheless. “I can give it a go, though.”

Emma stood up, and gestured toward the family room. “Couch?” 

“Bedroom.”

“No.”

“Oh, very well. Couch.”

He followed Emma to the couch, glancing at the screen as Santa waved his goodbyes and the credits rolled. “Seriously, you watched the parade again?”

“It’s a tradition,” Emma shrugged, deciding to leave the television on for background noise. 

“It’s the same every year,” Hook argued, although his heart didn’t seem to be in it. “Why do you keep watching it? It’s never going to change.”

“You want to complain about the parade, or you want to talk about your broken heart?” Emma patted the seat next to her. “Come on, sit down.”

Hook sat down obediently, letting his head fall back against the couch. Emma propped her head up with one hand, resting her elbow on the back of the couch.

He stared at the ceiling for a long time. “Why does this keep happening to me, Emma?” He shook his head slightly. “I mean…”

Emma waited, not saying anything.

“First you… then Ruby…” Hook frowned at the ceiling, swallowing hard. “This really sucks.”

She sighed, lifting her head so she could rub his shoulder sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, waving away her apology. “It’s not your fault, love.” His voice became tenser, colder, like the edge of a knife. “It’s Graham’s.”

“Graham.” Emma passed her hand over her eyes, sighing. “I know… I know having someone to blame makes it easier—“

“No, Emma, it’s _literally_ his fault,” Hook said, turning to look at her. “He’s ruined everything. He’s the reason we broke up, he’s the reason we’re not back together.” He went back to glaring at the ceiling, folding his arms. “Last night, she told me…” 

Emma waited patiently, but he didn’t finish the sentence: he seemed to be lost in the memory, a dark look spreading on his face. She waved her hand, prodding him to continue. “Last night, she told you…?”

Hook scoffed. “Just some nonsense about an unhealthy relationship…shallowness. Completely ridiculous.”

“I never got the impression you two liked each other all that much,” Emma shrugged.“You guys broke up at least twice a week.”

“And got back together twice a week,” Hook said indignantly.

“Yeah, but you were drunk,” she pointed out. “And you know what they say about drunk decision-making.”

“We were probably drunk when we broke up, too,” he argued back.

“Have you two ever been sober together?” Emma asked curiously. “Do you spend all your time drunk?”

“No, it’s just…” Hook waved his hand. “It’s generally more fun that way.” 

Emma opened her mouth, her tongue clicking against her teeth. “See… I think _that’s_ where she gets ‘unhealthy’ from.”

“You’re not helping,” he told her, his eyes narrowed.

“I’m just saying, maybe this was a good thing, you know?” she said. “Maybe it was getting to be one of those bad-habit-relationships, and you just needed a good, clean break.”

“No, it’s not—“ Hook made a frustrated noise, putting his fingers to the corners of his eyes. “You don’t understand.”

“I really don’t.”

“I don’t know how to explain it, I just…” Hook dropped his hand, sighing helplessly. “Bloody hell, I don’t _know.”_

“You just need some time,” Emma said soothingly. “It’s still fresh, you just need some time to get over her.”

Hook laughed contemptuously, shaking his head. “I don’t see that happening.”

“You got over me,” she said brightly. “You never thought that could happen.”

“Yeah, but…it’s not the same.” Hook looked over at her, creasing his forehead. “I’m not explaining this well.”

She shrugged. “Try.”

“I don’t want to. Not right now.” He looked at her for a long time, frowning slightly. “I don’t like this. Make me feel better.”

“Make you feel better?” Emma repeated, a little taken aback by the abruptness. 

“Just…” Hook waved his hand. “I don’t know. Say something nice about me.”

Emma blinked. “Um…” She looked at the ceiling, thinking hard. “You’ve got good teeth?”

Hook raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, yeah, that was lame,” she agreed. “But I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Just something nice. Is it really that difficult? Because I have to tell you, it rather hurts me that you’re having such a hard time.”

Emma blew out a breath. “You pull off that scarf pretty well?”

“That’s something nice about Neal’s scarf. Not me.”

Emma looked at him for a long time, searching her mind for something, anything, she could say. But it was difficult to think of something with him staring at her, waiting. 

“You’re pretty good at online solitaire.”

“Brilliant.”

Emma sighed. She really wasn't very good at this comforting-thing. She expected Hook to make some sort of crack about it, but he just stayed  silent for a long time, staring at the screen without really seeing it. 

“What’s so wonderful about Graham, anyway?” he asked finally.

Emma chewed her lip. “Do you want the honest answer or the one that’s going to make you feel better?”

“Both,” he said decisively. “Give me the honest, first.”

“He’s sweet, sensitive, kind, smart, hardworking, mature, and crazy-hot,” she said bluntly. “Plus, he can cook.”

Hook nodded slowly. “And now the one that’s going to make me feel better?”

“I don’t know _what_ she sees in him.” Emma gave him half a smile, nudging him. “How’d I do?”

“Not bad,” he shrugged. “Belle’s better at this than you, though. She usually makes me tea.”

“Do you want tea?”

“No, it’s too early for tea,” he said, pulling out his flask. Emma rolled her eyes as he took a long swig from it.

“Too early for tea, so he goes for rum,” she muttered. “You’re an alcoholic.”

Hook swallowed, exhaling loudly. “Ah…” he said in relish, holding up the flask to look at it. “Now that’s how you mend a broken heart.”

“That’s how you encourage an alcohol addiction.”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” he said stubbornly. “I’m an alcohol _appreciator._ ”

“Just don’t get too drunk, okay?” she warned. “We have to leave in a few hours, and I need you to behave yourself today.”

“And why’s that, Swan?” Hook grinned, raising a roguish eyebrow. “Afraid you might have to _punish_ me?”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “You know, you did that the other day, too. Seriously, _what_ is going on with you?”

“I don’t know, I keep doing that,” he frowned. “I’m  starting to think I might have a psychological issue.”

“Like…compulsive sluttiness?”

“Yeah, it’s just like a reflex.” Hook looked at her wonderingly. “You think I should talk to Archie, after all?”

“Maybe….” Emma studied him. “Something I notice—you keep calling me ‘Swan’ when you do that. You haven’t called me that since…” She waved her hand. “You know, two years ago.”

“Curious….” Hook thoughtfully rubbed his thumb over his lips. “What do you think it means?”

“I think it means, call Archie.”

 


	29. Chapter 29

 

By the time they left for Graham’s, Hook was buzzed enough to be agreeable, but not enough to be overly talkative: _ideal_ conditions. Emma was rather proud of herself, having carefully monitored his alcohol intake to get him to the precise degree of drunkenness that would keep him on his best behavior. 

Snow had carefully kept her comments to herself, in a rare moment of consideration for him, while David had avoided the subject altogether, trying to keep the conversation light and cheerful as they drove to the house. Emma only half-listened, sitting with the French-dessert-thing on her lap (she couldn't pronounce the name, but David had spent at least ten minutes trying to teach them). Hook hummed softly under his breath, a small smile on his face. 

“…and to this very day,” David was saying as they pulled up, “I have never tried to mix vodka into a cupcake.”

“Should have tried rum,” Hook said pleasantly, allowing Emma to lean over and open his door for him (he was having a bit of trouble grasping the handle). “Rum is good, I like rum—what’s this?” he asked as Emma handed him the platter.

“Just hold it, so I can get out of the car,” she explained. Hook waited obediently as she got out of the car, and walked around to the other side to take the platter from him. 

“Thanks, love,” Hook said, taking her proffered elbow to lean on. “I’m still a bit wobbly.”

Emma opened her mouth, smiling, but the words died in her throat as she saw Regina’s car pull up. The door opened, and Henry got out, laughing at something. His smile faded when he saw Emma, but he offered a polite nod, a sort of _I’m-still-cross-but-I’m-not-quite-as-angry_ nod. Emma smiled back, feeling relieved. Well, at least he didn’t seem to hate her anymore. 

“Emma, come on, I’m freezing,” Hook complained, tugging her elbow. “Can we go?”

“Yeah, fine,” she said, shaking her head to clear it. 

“Ruby’s car here yet?” he asked in a low voice as they went up the walkway. Emma glanced around.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Good,” he breathed. “Think I might need a bit more rum first.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, catching him as he tripped over his feet. She frowned at him suspiciously as he let out a breathy little laugh. “Did you sneak a few sips in the car?”

“Drained the whole bloody thing,” he said proudly. Emma stopped, staring at him with wide, horror-filled eyes. 

“The whole thing?”

“The whole bloody thing,” he repeated, smiling widely. 

“How full was it?”

“To the tippity-tip-top.”

Emma felt her stomach drop. Drunk Hook was a bit of a wild card: he could be angry and unruly; he could be sad and weeping; he could be exuberant and over-affectionate. Whatever he was, it usually ended in public humiliation for him and anyone involved. It was already going to be painfully awkward with everyone in the same room; now she had to deal with _this?_

“Why would you do this to me?” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t worry about this right now, why are you doing this to me? Do you hate me?”

“Emma,” Hook said in a hurt voice. “Of course I don’t hate you. I bloody love you.” He looked over his shoulder, breaking into a huge smile. “And _Neal._ Neal, I bloody love you, mate!”

“I know you do,” Neal’s amused voice said, coming up behind them. Emma turned around, swallowing against her dry throat. Neal offered her a brisk smile, then turned his attention to Hook, smiling a little more warmly.

“So, you’re already wasted,” he said cheerfully.

“He drank his entire flask in the car,” Emma said, earning a side-eyed glance from him. “I didn’t know how much he had left in there, I didn’t think to take it off him, but…” She sighed. “Apparently, there was enough for this.”

“You are putting me in a room with Ruby and Graham, for several hours,” Hook told her, struggling to stay upright. “I needed something to brace my nerves.”

“That’s why I let you drink at the loft,” Emma said crossly. “You promised me you wouldn't drink anymore after that.”

“Yes, darling, I _lied,_ ” Hook told her, huffing impatiently. “Bit obvious, isn’t it?”

Emma looked at Neal helplessly. “I honestly didn’t know, I thought he was just a little buzzed. He _tricked_ me.”

“Probably should have seen that coming, Em,” Neal said, lifting the wrapper of the platter and frowning down at it. “What’s that?”

“Something French, I don’t know.”

Neal looked at it dubiously. “It looks very poofy.”

“Egg whites.”

“Ah, yeah…Egg whites.”

They stood there until it became unbearably awkward, with only Hook’s little mutterings of “I think I’d like some more rum” to break the silence. Neal finally cleared his throat.

“We should probably get inside and join everybody,” he said.

“Yeah,” Emma said, nodding profusely. “It’s cold out here.”

“Quite,” Hook agreed. “Plus, I think I need to sit down. I may have over-prepared myself for Ruby and Graham.”

“Just a bit,” Neal said, raising an eyebrow as Hook swayed on his feet. “Come on, let’s go.”

They went up the rest of the walkway, balancing Hook between them. Neal didn’t say anything else to Emma, but it didn't seem to be an angry silence: more of an awkward silence, as if he wasn't quite sure how to talk to her. 

 

Neal knocked on the door, keeping a firm grip on Hook’s elbow so Emma could hold the platter. A minute later, it swung open, Graham beaming at them.

“There you are!” he said delightedly, ushering them inside. “We were wondering where you lot got to!”

“This is for you,” Emma smiled at him, holding out the platter. Graham took it, smiling back brightly.

“Oh, this looks lovely,” he said, lifting the foil. “Thank you.”

“David made it,” she shrugged.

“I’ll just go set this down. Victor!” Graham called, making his way into the kitchen. “Take their coats, will you?”

Whale emerged from the family room, offering a brisk smile and a nod of greeting. “Just toss me your coats, I’ll put them upstairs.”

“Thanks, man,” Neal said, shrugging off his coat. Emma followed suit and, after an elbow to the ribs from her, so did Hook. Neal frowned as Hook passed his coat over, his eyes zeroing in on the scarf still wrapped around Hook’s neck.

“Is that…mine?” he asked, pointing to it. 

“It is most certainly is,” Hook grinned, patting his shoulder. “I’ve taken the liberty of adopting this scarf. It’s now mine.”

Neal stared at him for a moment. “You’re a strange man.”

“Yes, and I really need to _sit down,_ ” Hook whispered, hanging his arms between the two of them. “I really overdid it with the rum, I think. I’m usually not this drunk till it’s a bit darker out.”

“Couch is over there,” Whale said, pointing with his free hand. “And I can make you some coffee, if you like. Sober you up a bit.”

“Probably a good idea,” Hook said, stumbling against Neal. “I haven’t quite reached dangerous territory, but I think a few glasses of wine might put me over the edge.”

Whale considered him, a thoughtful frown on his face. “I think you might be an alcoholic.”

“Oh, that’s the least of my worries,” Hook said cheerfully. “I think I also use sex as a coping mechanism, which seems a little disturbed.”

Whale’s eyebrows shot up. “It does. Thanks for sharing.”

“Most welcome, sir,” Hook said over his shoulder as Neal and Emma guided him to the couch. “Most welcome.”

They set him down on the couch, Neal taking the seat beside him. Emma put her hands on her hips, looking down at them. 

“We’re going to have to watch him,” she told Neal. “He was pretty upset this afternoon, I don’t want him to embarrass himself in front of Ruby later.”

“Yeah.”

The others started to filter into the family room, Robin all bent over to hold Roland’s hand. Henry dropped into the armchair with an air of familiarity, hanging his legs over one of the arms as he pointed the remote at the television. 

“They’re already showing Christmas movies,” he announced to the room, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Anyone want to watch _The Mistletoe Miracle?_ ”

“Not really,” Emma said, perching herself on the armrest next to Neal. He glanced at her warily, not saying anything. Emma frowned. “What?”

“You know what,” he said expressionlessly, directing his attention toward _The Mistletoe Miracle._

Emma glared at him, then slowly turned her head back toward the screen. She knew she didn’t have much business getting upset, but fuck it, she couldn't help it. Her nerves were already shot, thinking about everything that could go wrong today; this just made everything worse.

“Okay,” Graham said, walking into the room with a appetizer platter. “So coffee’s on, for whoever’s interested, and I’ve got some crackers and cheese here…and some vegetables and dip, help yourselves.”

He set the platter down on the coffee table, and straightened up, clapping his hands together. “I think we’re still waiting on a few more people, but can I get anyone anything?”

“Is it too early to open a bottle of wine?” Emma asked dryly. Graham smiled.

“I think we could arrange that. Although the turkey will only be another hour if you want to wait…?”

“Mmmm….” Emma tilted her hand back and forth indecisively. “I think now would actually be good.”

“Okay,” Graham shrugged. “Sure, I could open a bottle of red. Anyone else?”

“Don’t let me have any,” Hook told Neal in a loud whisper as David and Regina raised their hands.

Graham’s smile tensed when his eyes fell on Regina, but he nodded his head, and turned to walk back into the kitchen. Emma glanced over at Regina curiously: her jaw was tight, but other than that, her face was expressionless. _Looks like everyone’s going to have a fun day._

By the time wine glasses had been passed around, everyone had started to take a bizarre fascination in _The Mistletoe Miracle._ It was one of those laughably bad Christmas movies, where you can’t quite believe you’re watching it, and yet you can’t look away. The script was poorly written, the acting dreadful, and the music was campy to the point of physical nausea…and yet, everyone felt compelled to keep watching.

“It’s so strange,” Regina whispered, watching some Lifetime-movie-reject warn everyone about the magic of mistletoes (apparently, they cast a Christmas love spell!). “And yet…”

“I need to see how it ends,” Robin finished in a hushed tone.

“It’s literally the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Henry said in wonder. “But it’s so … _brilliantly_ stupid. I mean, you need a stroke of genius to reach this level of stupid.”

The doorbell rang, startling everyone out of their reverie. 

“I’ll get it,” Graham said from his place against the wall.

“‘Kay…” everyone droned, getting slowly sucked back into _The Mistletoe Miracle._ No one even glanced up as the door swung open and Graham joined in a round of enthusiastic “Hi! How are you?”’s.  But then Ruby’s voice—loud, as ever—said, “Where is everybody?”

Emma immediately looked to Hook, who had turned pale and wide-eyed, shrinking back against the couch. 

“Pretend I’m not here!” he whispered.

“She’s going to be able to _see_ you,” Neal whispered back. “Just act normal, pretend you don’t even see her.”

“He’s right,” Emma said, leaning forward to join in. “I mean, look  how well that worked when Neal did it to me.”

Neal shot her an angry look. “ _Don’t._ ”

“Don’t what?” she challenged, not caring as her voice rose a little or as a few heads turned their way. “You can’t just _ignore_ me, Neal. It doesn’t work like that. We’re all adults, we all understand—well, we’re all _supposed_ to understand—that relationships get messy and tangled and sometimes you have to deal with shit the comes out of nowhere. You can’t keep punishing me for that.”

“ _Punishing you?_ ” Neal repeated incredulously, earning a few more wide-eyed looks as Graham reentered the room with Ruby and Granny. “Oh, right, because _you’re_ the victim, you’re always the victim, the entire world is only beating up on Emma Swan, and all she can do is be tough and push back! Well, we’re all very impressed, okay? So just grab your gold medal, take a bow, and get off stage.”

“And what is _that_ supposed to mean?” Emma demanded, standing up. 

“Guys…” Robin said quietly. 

“It means, you’re not the only one who’s had a tough life, Emma!” Neal shouted, standing up to match her glare. “You’re not the only who’s been abandoned and left to fend for yourself! You’re not the only one who’s had their heart broken! You’re just the only one who walks around like she deserves special treatment for it!”

“I never asked for _special treatment!_ ” Emma spat. “Maybe a little extra understanding from _you_ since you’re the one who did it to me in the first place!”

Neal’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Are you actually blaming _me_ for you growing up in the foster system? Are you _fucking_ kidding me? You can’t blame me for _everything_!”

“No, but I can blame you for sending me to jail!” she shot back. “Leaving me alone and pregnant, holding one of your stupid stolen watches, and getting picked up by the police when I was _eighteen years old!_ ”

“Oh, my _God,_ how many times do we have to go through this? I _told_ you—“

“What, that _August_ made you do it? Yeah, sure, _I’m_ always blaming someone else!”

“He did, and you fucking know it!” Neal said furiously. “He knew _everything,_ Emma! What was I supposed to do?”

“ _Not_ leave,” she hissed. “You were supposed to _not leave,_ no matter what a random lunatic told you.”

“Who didn't turn out to be a lunatic, did he?” Neal countered, glowering at her. “Because if I hadn't made the right judgment call, what would have happened? You’d never have found your parents. We’d have a kid we wouldn't be able to take care of, and he probably would have ended up in the system, and you remember how much fun _that_ was. And you wouldn't have the life you have now. And all because I listened to a random lunatic. Why? Because I _know_ that world, Emma—you don’t! He wasn’t a random lunatic, he was someone from our world, telling me to stop being selfish and to let you go! So you could find your family and have a good life! And I _did!_ I’m so _sorry!_ ” He swept a sarcastic bow, which infuriated Emma all the more. 

“What, so you’re a fucking _saint_ now, for doing that? Is that what you’re telling me? All hail, Neal Cassidy, for skipping off to Canada—“

“Okay!” Graham shouted as Neal opened his mouth furiously. “Let’s all just settle down now, all right? Henry, you want to help me in the kitchen?”

Henry blinked, tearing his eyes away from his parents. “Huh?”

“Do you want to help me in the kitchen for a moment?” Graham smiled, though his eyes clearly said it was more of an order than a request. 

Henry looked to Regina, as if asking reassurance; she nodded briefly, waving him off to follow Graham. Emma and Neal continued to glare at each other, breathing hard as they both fought to control their tempers. 

“Okay, you guys,” Robin said carefully, getting up from his seat. “Let’s all relax…go back to _The Mistletoe Miracle._ ” 

Hook tugged Neal back into his seat on the couch, while Ruby guided Emma to a seat on the other side of the room. 

Everyone else tried to renew their interest in the movie in an attempt to subdue the tension, but there was no getting around Emma’s dark mutterings or Neal’s glowering. The merrily singing elves dancing around the Christmas tree provided an odd contrast to the murderous atmosphere. 

The doorbell rang, mercifully breaking the awkward silence. 

“Oh, thank you, Jesus,” David muttered as Whale got up to open the door. 

“Hello, Doctor!” Rumple’s voice called out. “Oh, you’re going to take my coat? Wonderful, wonderful, thanks very much!”

Rumple came into the room, beaming; Belle trailed behind, a grimace on her face. “Hello, all!” Rumple said, clapping his hands together. 

“Hey, Dad,” Neal said gruffly; Regina opened and closed her mouth several times, then gave up and simply waved. “Hey, Belle.”

“Hello, son! And…” Rumple smiled awkwardly at Regina. “Regina.”

“Hello,” Regina said, inclining her head. 

“Hey, guys,” Belle said, glancing behind her. “Oh, shit, she’s here.”

“Who’s here?” Robin frowned. “What’s wrong?”

The door opened again, answering his question as an all too familiar voice called out, “Oh, Dr. Whale! Hey, listen, do you have any of your machines on you? Because I could use  a _full body-scan,_ if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, God,” Ruby said, touching a hand to her heart. “You brought _Tink?_ ”

“She just invited herself!” Belle wailed, sinking into a chair. “She overheard me and Rumple talking in the library when he came to pick me up, and she just hopped in the car with us!”

“It gets worse,” Rumple said, still smiling with forced cheerfulness. “She’s already half-drunk, so any inhibitions she has—are gone.”

Emma groaned, putting her head in her hands. “This day just got a million times worse.”

 

* * *

 

A typical Thanksgiving for Henry had been dinner with Regina, like any other night, but with a few fancier courses. Over the past couple years, as his family tree had grown, the holiday had developed into a loud, lively day, filled with Regina’s gourmet food next to Emma’s extremely-not-gourmet food, standing close to David’s latest culinary experiments. As more people were added to the guest list (Neal, Hook, Robin and Roland), the dinners passed “lively” and reached “argumentative”; and then last year, when Rumple and Belle had been invited for the first time, it escalated into “shouting matches”, “plate throwing” and “tearful”.

From the way things were going, _this_ year was going to reach an exciting new level: they might even make it to “requiring intensive physical and emotional therapy”. 

Tink was not helping the situation in the slightest. She had burst into the kitchen, just as Henry was helping Graham take the turkey out of the over, and yelled out, “Well, if it isn’t Professor Sexy!”

Things had gotten progressively worse: Tink had said a number of things of increasing suggestiveness as they had carried plates out to the table, seated everyone, double-checked that everyone had enough napkins—David even tried to saying grace to shut her up, but Tink had talked right through that. 

Hook had finally forced a forkful of potatoes in her mouth, giving them all a reprieve from her embarrassingly whorish, drunken speech—an act that earned him a small round of applause from Robin, Regina, and Whale. Unfortunately, that hadn’t eased the tension: there was still Emma and Neal staring daggers at each other; then there was Ruby, flirting shamelessly, sitting next to Graham; Hook eyeing the wine bottle, trying to fight the urge; Robin looking curiously between Regina and Graham; and of course, Roland had insisted sitting next to Henry, so it didn’t help that every so often, Henry had to wipe mashed potatoes off his face.

Henry wasn’t really listening to the forced small talk; he was still trying to wrap his head around his parents’ argument. He had never heard the full story, mostly because Emma and Neal had agreed that “the past was the past” and there was no use resenting anyone for it: apparently, they lied, because there seemed to be plenty of lingering resentment. Henry wasn't sure if it was a good thing because they were finally addressing their issues, or a bad thing because now they were fighting. 

“More turkey, Henry?” Graham asked politely, making him look up.

“Um…no. No, thanks.” Henry smiled tightly, trying to ignore Ruby’s hand dancing dangerously close to Graham’s. 

“I wouldn’t mind some more turkey, _Professor,_ ” Tink said, raising an eyebrow slyly. Graham grimaced.

“Help yourself.”

“Actually, changed my mind. I’d like some more wine. Care to join me, _Professor_?”

“No, thank you.”

“What about you, Hook?” Tink said, turning to her left. “You look like you could use a drink. Use a _Tink._ ” She threw back her head, laughing: clearly a happy drunk. 

“I’d rather not,” Hook said, looking faintly ill as his eyes followed Ruby’s movements. 

“There’s a first,” Granny snorted.

“Granny,” Ruby said warningly, giving her a stern look.

“Oh, that’s all right, love, you don’t have to defend me,” Hook said, smiling bitterly. “You’ve got your hands full.”

“Wouldn’t mind having my hands full,” Tink said into her wine glass as Ruby turned her glare to Hook.

“Stay out of it, Hook.”

“Oh, right, I’m _intruding_ again,” Hook said, giving her a meaningful look. “That’s me, always _intruding._ ”

“Yes, you are,” Ruby said, giving him an icy smile. “Maybe you should stop.”

“Maybe you should take a hint,” he shrugged.

“Maybe _you_ should,” Ruby said, her voice raising slightly. “In fact, maybe you should leave, if you’re going to make things awkward for everyone.”

Hook raised his eyebrows coolly. “Awkward for everyone, or awkward for you and your pathetic attempts to seduce Graham in _front_ of everyone?”

“More wine?” Graham said quickly, reaching for the bottle.

“Yes, please,” Tink said greedily, holding out her glass. “A few more rounds of this stuff, I might even get brave enough to spare Gorgeous McSexy over there a few words.” She winked at Neal, who now looked deeply uncomfortable. Henry sympathized wholeheartedly: the last thing he needed right now was to hear drunk Tink hitting on his dad. It was bad enough when Hook hit on Emma, but at least there was an understanding that it was more customary than meaningful—there was no such understanding here. 

“Thank you, Professor,” Tink said, leaning forward to take the proffered bottle from Graham. “And may I say, you fill out the sweater vest _quite_ nicely.”

“You have said,” Ruby said acidly. “A lot.”

“Have I?” Tink smiled at Graham roguishly. “Oh, well, I guess you better up the stakes. Shall we uncover the mystery that lies beneath the sweater vest?” 

“Oh, my God,” Graham muttered, covering his eyes. 

“Careful, Tink. Don’t want Ruby getting jealous,” Hook said, staring daggers at Ruby. “We all know how she feels about jealousy, wouldn’t want to get her upset and break up with everybody.”

“Pass the salt,” David interrupted before Ruby could retort, holding out his hand.

Henry glanced around for the saltshaker. “Oh, Dad—it’s right there, next to your hand,” he said to Neal, pointing. “Could you just hand that to Grandpa?”

“Yeah, come on, Neal,” Emma said, glowering at him. “Don’t leave him hanging—you know, like how you did with me and the watches.”

Neal tossed his fork down. “I’m sorry, David,” he said jerkily, shoving the salt at him. “Do you think you can ever forgive me? Or are you going to hold it over my head for the rest of my life, so you can feel like a saint compared to me, no matter what you do?”

“I’ll forgive you,” David said quietly, taking the salt. 

“I’d forgive you, too,” Tink said slyly, grinning around her wine glass. “You, too, Professor Sexy. And you, too, Captain Sexy. And you, too, Dr. Sexy. But Robin, you’re spoken for, and David, you’re married and sitting next your wifey, so I think it wouldn't be appropriate for me to forgive you.”

“First time I ever heard her worry about ‘appropriate’,” Rumple remarked. 

“Speaking of appropriate,” Hook said, clearing his throat. “Ruby, would you mind very much containing your drool in the little bowl next to you? You’re going to _ruin_ the tablecloth.”

Ruby leaned forward, squinting. “That’s funny,” she said slowly. “I always thought your eyes were blue, but they actually look a little _green_ right now…Oh!” She snapped her fingers, clicking her teeth. “Must be the jealousy.”

“Well, I think it’s cute that he’s jealous,” Emma interjected, giving Neal a frosty smile. “See, he’s keeping tabs on her. He’s not just up and leaving, he’s sticking around to look out for her.”

“Yes,” Neal said, smiling back tightly. “It _is_ nice. Although, it might be nicer of him to be unselfish enough to let her go, since she could have an even greater life that exists without him.”

“Fair point,” Emma said through clenched teeth. “But let’s double-check. Anyone seen _Pinnochio_ around?”

“And some more wine!” Graham said with forced enthusiasm, reaching for the bottle again. “Neal? Emma?”

 “And me, “ Tink chimed in, swaying in her seat. “Fill ‘er up, Professor Sexy!”

“Please stop calling me that,” Graham said through clenched teeth.

“Doesn’t matter what I call you, you’re still going to be sexy.”

“Can we go back to ‘appropriate’?” David said, a pleading note in his voice.

“I don’t see that happening,” Tink grinned. She looked at Hook, elbowing him. “What about you? Do you see that happening, Mr. Bedroom Eyes?”

“Get _off_ ,” Hook complained, jerking away from her.

“Ooh, someone’s in a bad mood,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Maybe you should have some more wine, loosen up.”

“Oh, good, more alcohol. That’s _exactly_ what he needs,” Ruby said witheringly. 

“Maybe Graham could use some more,” Hook shot back. “He’s going to need to self-medicate after the way you’re manhandling him.”

“I’m fine,” Graham said quickly. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.”

“Oh, I _agree,_ ” Tink said with relish. “You are _fine_ as a glass of wine. Speaking of…can I offer you some more wine, Professor? You know alcohol can lead to some interesting circumstances—“

“Let’s change the subject!” Robin said loudly. “Shall we change the subject? Let’s change the subject. Henry, how’s school?”

“Um…it’s—it’s okay,” Henry said, startled at suddenly being included in the conversation. “Thanks for asking.”

“What are you studying in school?” Graham asked, clinging to the subject change like a life preserver. “Anything interesting?”

“Not really. I mean, biology’s kind of cool, but—“

“Biology…The study of living things.” Tink gave Graham a significant look over the top of her glass. “What do you think, Professor? Want to study _this_ living thing?”

“No, actually. I don’t,” Graham said through clenched teeth. 

“What about you, Gorgeous McSexy? How about after this, you and me head over to my place?” Tink slurred, pointing her wine glass at Neal.

“How about, no?”

“Okay, your place, then. I’m flexible.” Tink leaned forward, winking. “ _Extremely,_ I might add.”

“Again… _no.”_ Neal scooted his chair as far away from her as he could manage. 

Tink blew out a breath, turning in her seat to give Hook a considering look. He glanced back at her warily.

“What?”

“What are you doing tonight?” she frowned.

He closed his eyes, clenching his teeth. “Not. You.”

“Oh, really?” Tink said, unperturbed, rummaging in her purse.  “Well, I think—“ she fluttered a bill through her fingers—“Mr. Jackson can change your mind.”

“I’m not a prostitute!” Hook said indignantly. “And if I were, I can assure you, I’d be a _lot_ more expensive than twenty bucks!”

“Aha!” Tink said wisely. “So, there _is_ a price, it’s just a matter of haggling.”

“You depraved little psycho, get away from me!”

“Oh, my God, Tink, are you _kidding_ me?” Belle said in disbelief. “Are you that desperate? You can’t go _one_ week without getting any? How the hell did you survive two hundred years in Neverland?” 

“Oh, there were….” Tina’s eyes gleamed, flickering to Hook. “Opportunities.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “You mean—?”

“Hey!” Hook barked. “What happens in Neverland, _stays_ in Neverland!”

“Oh, _Neverland,_ ” Neal said mockingly over everyone’s gasps, turning to Emma with wide eyes. “Remember Neverland, Emma?”

Emma slit her eyes at him. “I remember.”

“Remember how I was hanging over the portal after being shot?”

“Yes.”

“Remember how you let go of my hand, to plummet to my death?”

“Because you asked me to, for Henry’s sake, yes.”

“Interesting, isn’t it? Being unselfish enough to let go of someone—“

“That is _not_ the same thing, and you damn well know it!”

“It’s close enough!” Neal retorted angrily. “Not to mention the fact that there’s plenty of things _I_ could be mad you about and hold over your head, but _don’t!_ ”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Emma said incredulously. “I’ve never done _anything_ to you! What are you, some kind of escaped mental patient?”

“Oh, you didn’t do anything to me?”

“Nope.”

“Not a _single_ thing?”

“Not a thing.”

Neal stared at her incredulously. “You told me in the Echo Caves that you’d been hoping I was _dead._ ”

“You what?” Snow gasped as everyone’s head whipped toward Emma.

“You are taking that _way_ out of context!” she sputtered. “That was a cheap shot!”

“Well, that’s okay—I’ve got more!” Neal snapped. “How about, you didn’t even wait a week after I fell through a portal _to my death_ before you started making out with Hook?”

“Well, hang on! Don’t drag me into this!” Hook said over Henry’s coughing and gagging.

“You were _dead!_ I was moving _on!_ ” Emma shouted. “You’ve heard of moving on, Neal! Remember Tamara? Your _fiance?_ ”

“That’s not fair,” Neal growled. “That was ten years after you, okay? _Ten. Whole. Years._ And she was a fucking psychopath working for another fucking psychopath who manipulated us all in his weird, creepy, twisted magic mafia! You’re not seriously still upset about that?”

“Yes, of _course,_ I’m still upset!” Emma said furiously, throwing up her hands. “You left me, and then you moved on and got engaged to someone else—“

“Yeah, _ten years later!_ ” Neal shouted back. “What about you? I got shot, fell through a portal, nearly _died—_ how long did it take you to start shoving your tongue down Hook’s throat?”

“Hey!” Hook said, affronted. “I told you, don’t drag me into this!”

“There is a difference between forming a complete meaningful relationship with a person, planning to marry them, planning to build a life with them—and a meaningless kiss!” Emma shouted back.

“Meaningless. Brilliant, thanks for that,” Hook said, rolling his eyes.

“Are you talking about me and Tamara versus you and Hook, or me and you versus you and Graham?”

Emma’s eyes widened furiously. “Neal, so help me God, I do _not_ need this right now!”

“What is going on?” Henry wailed, throwing his head in his hands. “I am going to walk out of here even more fucked up than I was to begin with!”

“I’m sorry, Henry,” Emma said through clenched teeth, making him look up helplessly. “Maybe if your father hadn't fucked everything up to being with, none of us would be this fucked up.”

“ _Oh…_ ” Neal breathed, staring at her in disbelief. “You did _not_ just blame me for that, you did _not_ just blame me for that!”

“Oh, I think I did,” she said icily.

“Really? Well, this may have escaped your notice, Emma, but I didn’t draw up a series of evil plans to orchestrate all the evil karma in the world just to fuck up this entire family!”

“I’m not blaming you for fucking up _them!_ I’m blaming you for fucking up us! Me! Henry! You and me! This was _your_ fault! You fucked up everything when you decided to skip off to Canada and leave me, alone and pregnant, taking the fall for your stupid fucking stolen watches!”

“Can you never say the word ‘pregnant’ again?” Henry said miserably.

“How can you possibly still be mad about this?” Neal shouted, standing up. “How many times do we have to go through this? I gave you up—“

“Do _not_ finish that sentence!” Emma flared, knocking back her chair. “Neal Cassidy, I swear to God, if you want to live to see Christmas—“

“—to _give you your best chance!_ ” Neal said over her, pounding the table. “I didn’t _want_ to leave you! I _had_ to! For you! You did the same thing for Henry! Your parents did the same thing for you! Why am I the only one being crucified for it?”

“Who’s crucifying you?” Emma retorted angrily. “All I hear is you praising yourself for being such a gosh darn wonderful guy for letting me take the fall for your crime and go to jail for eleven months in fucking Arizona!”

“I _tried,_ Emma! Do you know how many times I tracked down August and his stupid fucking motorcycle, to try to find out where you were, if you were okay? He wouldn't even tell me which jail you were in! All I could do was leave you the bug and the twenty thousand I got for the watches! I figured it would be enough to get you on your feet—“

“What are you _talking_ about?” Emma said icily, folding her arms. “What twenty thousand? I never got twenty thousand. What is this, another one of your delusions?”

Neal stared at her intently. “Emma, I left you twenty thousand dollars.”

“No, you didn’t. I got the bug, and PTSD from being forced to give up a kid because the father ditched me and left me to rot—“

“I _left_ you twenty thousand dollars,” Neal said loudly. “I didn’t know about Henry, I didn’t _ditch_ you to let you rot in jail, and I left you twenty fucking thousand dollars, okay? I gave it to August, to give to…” He trailed off, his eyes widening in dawning comprehension. “Oh, my God.”

“ _What?_ ” Emma said acidly. “Don’t leave me in suspense.”

Neal looked up at her. “August,” he breathed. “I gave the money to August.”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “Does this story have a point?”

“I gave the money to August, that bastard ran off with it!” Neal covered his mouth, his eyes wide in disbelief. “He stole it,” he breathed, lowering his hand. “I left you all the money I got from the watches, and he _stole_ it.”

Emma drew in a sharp breath. “Okay, so I’m still fucking pissed with you, but if you’re telling the truth, I’m _really_ fucking pissed with August.”

“Where is he?” Neal said, dropping his hand and folding it into a fist. “I’m going to beat him to a pulp for this, where _is_ he?”

“He’s a child, remember? You can’t beat him to a pulp, you’ll go to jail for that. Oh, well, _first time for everything!_ ” Emma spat.

“AGAIN? FOR THE LAST TIME, EMMA—“

“Okay, ENOUGH!” Graham roared, standing up. Emma and Neal turned to him, breathing and fuming. “Everyone sit down and relax, all right? No more shouting, no more fighting, no more anything except enjoying this beautiful dinner I made for everyone and being thankful because it’s Thanks-fucking-giving, okay?”

There was stunned silence for a few moments, everyone left speechless from Graham’s outburst.

“Well, I’m thankful,” Tink said at last, shattering the silence. “Thankful for the Professor’s sexiness.”

“Goddamn it,” Graham muttered. “Someone give me the wine bottle.”

* * *

 

Henry had never pegged Graham for a drinker, but _shit,_ did he go through that wine fast! Henry only half-heard the continued argument raging on between Emma and Neal, and Hook and Ruby; he watched, openmouthed, as Graham poured glass after glass, muttering to himself.

“Just shouting and yelling and fighting and blaming and back and forth and back and forth,” Graham was growling, his eyes wild as he downed another glass of wine. “I just wanted a quiet evening, a nice, quiet eve—“

“You know something? Jealousy is a _really_ bad color on you!”

“Well, ‘pathetic’ isn’t a great color on you!”

“It’s not pathetic to move on! Just because I’m not with you, that doesn't mean I’m pathetic!”

“I didn’t say that’s why you were pathetic! You’re pathetic because you keep deluding yourself that—!”

“No, I’ll tell you what pathetic is! Leaving your pregnant girlfriend to take responsibility for your stolen watches while you get ripped off of twenty thousand dollars by Pinocchio!”

“For the _last_ time, I didn’t _know_ about Henry, August took advantage of me, and I _didn’t want to leave you_!”

“But you DID!”

“Because I had to!”

“Because it was easy!”

“You think that was easy? God, Emma, how can you—?”

“SHUT UP!” Graham shouted, throwing down the bottle so forcefully, it shattered. Henry brought his elbows to his face, ducking as glass exploded in all directions. 

“Jesus _Christ!_ ” he yelled. “What the fuck is wrong with you people?”

“EVERYONE, SHUT _UP!_ I CAN’T _TAKE_ THIS!” Graham glared around the table, breathing raggedly, ignoring the growing puddle of wine, staining his tablecloth. “You know, I have plenty of shit in my past I could stand here and rage and scream and yell about, but I _don’t!_ For God’s sake, this was supposed to be a nice, enjoyable day, and you’re all making it miserable!”

“Oh, shut _up,_ Graham!” Hook spat. “You know what else was supposed to be a nice, enjoyable day? Saturday! The wedding-do-over-thing—“

“Vow renewal—“

“What _ever,_ Belle!” Hook turned back to Graham, fuming. “That was supposed to be a great day! You ruined the whole bloody thing just by showing up, and you’re going to stand there and scold us for for yelling about what you’re responsible for in the first place?”

“Oh, yes, _scold me_ ,” Tink said, ducking under Hook’s arm to wriggle up to Graham. “Give me detention, Professor!”

“Would you get away from me?” Graham jerked away from her, making a noise of disgust. “My God, have some class, woman!”

“There you go, Ruby!” Hook said witheringly. “Your first tip—Graham likes ladies with _class!_ Guess it’s back to the drawing board for you!”

“How _dare_ you talk to me like that!” Ruby snapped. “I have plenty of class, thank you very much!”

“Yes, I _know!_ ” Hook shouted. “Which is why I’m so angry that you keep degrading yourself for Graham, it makes me _sick!_ ”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, I’m _sure_ that’s it! There’s no selfish reasons behind it all, you’ve just got purely noble intentions—“

“SHUT UP!” Graham yelled, smashing his plate now. Henry ducked again as food and shards flew through the air.

“Stop smashing things, you lunatic!” he hollered, shielding his face with his hands. “Again, what the _fuck_ is wrong with you people?”

“You want to know what’s wrong with me?” Graham retorted. “I was _dead,_ okay? And then you brought me back to this hellhole, just so I could start wishing I was dead all over again because your entire family is fucking insane!”

“Hey, watch it, buddy!” Neal snapped. “You don’t just go tossing that word around if you’re not part of the group! What do you know about any of this?”

“Yeah, shut up, Graham!” Hook joined in. “You’re not part of this!”

“Neither are you!” Regina spat at Hook. “You’re not part of the family, why are you always here? You’re always here, you useless little—!”

“What are you attacking me for? I didn’t do anything to you!” Hook said angrily. 

“You added a lot more drama to this than was necessary, that’s what you did!” Regina retorted. “We’ve already got a complicated enough situation, and then _you_ had to show up and start antagonizing everyone—!”

“ _You’re blaming me for this?_ ” Hook’s voice rose an octave, looking livid. “Bloody hell, Regina! I know you don’t like me, but you can’t blame me for everything!”

“Well, I have to blame someone!” Regina cried desperately. “ You’re the most convenient person to blame, everyone hates you anyway!”

“That’s not true! It’s not true, right?” Hook added, turning to Neal worriedly. Neal glanced at him, still glaring.

“No, it’s not true,” he said grudgingly.

“You don’t hate me?”

“No, I don’t hate you.”

“Not even a little?”

“No, not even a little.”

“Not even for kissing Emma two years ago?”

“Okay, I hate you a little.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Because, you know, it really wasn't my fault, it was Emma’s.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Emma said indignantly. “What’s the matter with you, selling me out like that?”

“She kissed me, I didn’t kiss her,” Hook continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Do you _mind?_ My kid is _right_ there, he doesn’t need to hear this!”

“No, he doesn’t!” Henry said loudly, putting his hands over his ears.

“Neither do her parents,” David said, slumping miserably as Snow hid her face in her hands. 

“Forced herself on me, is what she did—“

“I didn't hear you complaining!” Emma retorted.

“I’m complaining,” Henry cut in, raising his hand. 

“He doesn't sound like he’s complaining now, either,” Ruby said, folding her arms. “Sounds more like he’s bragging.”

Hook turned to her, gasping mockingly. _“Jealous,_ are we?”

“No, I’m not jealous,” she said witheringly.

“Oh, good,” Hook said, coolly raising his eyebrows. “Because I know how you feel about jealousy.”

“That’s right, you do,” Ruby said icily.

“And I’d hate for you to have to break up with yourself,” Hook returned.

“It would be a shame.”

“Especially since it was pretty intense.”

“Okay, stop talking, I beg of you!” Henry said frantically. 

“Yes, please stop talking!” Snow said loudly. 

“Yeah, please stop talking,” Neal said, looking uncomfortable. 

“And I don’t just mean ‘intense’. I mean _intense_ intense,” Hook said, ignoring all of them, staring at Ruby. “Intense, like, couldn’t-keep-her-hands-off-me-intense.”

“I get it,” Ruby said through gritted teeth.

“You know, we were just talking, having a little rum,” Hook went on, his eyes gleaming at Ruby. “Then, next thing I know, she’s got me by the collar, kissing me uncontrollably—“

“This is wonderful. Thank you for the play-by-play,” Neal said quietly.

“—couldn’t catch my breath for ten minutes after that,” Hook continued, leaning forward confidentially. “I mean, who _knows_ what could have happened if Emma hadn't managed to tear herself away, right?”

“Okay, thank you, Hook!” David said loudly. “I’m sure Ruby’s sufficiently jealous, you can stop now!”

“I’m not jealous!” Ruby said exasperatedly. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Oh, my _God!”_ Regina said, raising her eyes to the ceiling. “How long do we have to suffer through this will-they-won’t-they shit? God, it’s like being trapped inside an episode of _Friends!_ ”

“I fucking hate that show,” Robin muttered as Regina started a rant, shaking his head. Henry looked up, staring at him incredulously.

“You hate _Friends?_ ” he repeated. “You hate ‘Frosty the Snowman’ and you hate _Friends?_ What the hell, man?’

Robin put a finger to his lips and nodded his head to Regina, who was still talking to a bemused Hook and a humiliated Ruby with a half-amused, half-sympathetic audience in the background. 

“…raging around and screaming back and forth just so you can fall into each other’s arms again, it makes me _sick!_ ” she was saying, throwing her arms in the air. “I don't give a rat’s ass whether or not you two are together! I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re happy together, miserable together, bipolar together, whatever! But if you two insist on making your relationship a constant public performance, I’m going to have to put my foot down and demand you two just make up your minds and take a bow already!” She huffed angrily, and whirled around to point at Neal and Emma. “And as for you two…”

“‘Gina,” Neal said warningly. “Stay out of it.”

“Stop calling me ‘Gina’!” Regina snapped. “And I’m not going to stay out of it, because you two are _just_ as bad!”

“Hey!” Emma and Neal said indignantly. 

“I can’t stand listening to you anymore!” she cried. “You two say the same things, over and over and over and over—I mean, my God!”

“Regina, with all due _respect,_ ” Emma said bitterly, glaring at her, “you don’t know what’s going on, okay?”

“Oh, really?” Regina said coolly, raising an eyebrow. “Let’s see—you’re upset with Neal because you think he abandoned you to take the blame for stealing twenty thousand dollars’ worth of watches—just like your parents abandoned you on the side of a roadway because they didn't want you. And then you found out you were expecting a baby, who you knew you’d have to give up—just like you thought _your_ parents gave you up because they didn’t want you.” 

She turned to Neal, smiling sarcastically. “And you’re upset with Emma because she can’t understand that you didn't want to do that to her, that you didn’t want to do the same thing everyone’s being doing to her her entire life, but you felt like you had no choice because someone from our world tracked you down and basically blackmailed you and forced you to give her up to give her a better life.” 

She turned back to Emma. “And you’re upset because he can’t understand that no matter how many explanations he gives you, it still hurts.” 

Back to Neal. “And you’re upset because you’re scared Emma’s never going to forgive you, the way you thought you were never going to forgive your father.”

Back to Emma. “And you’re upset because you _did_ forgive him, and you’re worried that if you tell him and give him another chance, he’s going to break your heart again.”

Back to Neal. “And seriously, stop calling me ‘Gina’.”

Everyone else stared at Regina with wide eyes in stunned silence. Henry swallowed a few times, looking between his parents’ faces, trying to read their expressions: Neal looked faintly surprised, and Emma tried to appear disinterested as she fiddled with a string, but if he _squinted…._ Henry thought he could see a flicker of (what was it—? hope? peace? relief?) _something_ in their eyes. 

Or maybe that was the weird lighting from the yellow lamp.

Regina looked around at them, raising an imperious eyebrow. “How’d I do?” 

“Pretty good, I’d say,” Neal said quietly, Emma nodding in mute agreement. 

“Well, then,” Graham said, smiling through clenched teeth as he raised a glass of wine in mock toast. “Congratulations, Regina. Who knew you had it in you?”

Henry frowned at his bitter tone. There was a hidden insult sewn into his words that Henry couldn't quite decipher. Robin seemed to notice it, too: he frowned suspiciously, shifting in his seat.

“And what, pray tell, does that mean, ‘who knew you had it in you’?” he asked, carefully polite. “Are you implying something?”

Graham set his glass down, and looked at Regina, his gaze full of meaning. “I’m not implying anything,” he said, his voice still cold and bitter. “I’m just surprised. The Regina I knew would never have been able to manage that level of humanness.”

“Graham,” Regina cut in before Henry and Robin could say anything. “You’re drunk, and you’re upset. This really isn't a good time to be talking for you.”

“I’d listen to Regina, mate,” Robin said darkly. “Best do as she says, or there could be some nasty consequences.”

Graham let out a derisive laugh. “Story of my life.”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Robin snapped.

“You want to know? You really want to know?”

“Graham…” Regina said warningly. “ _Don’t._ ”

“Why not?” he shot back angrily. “What are you going to do to me?”

She glared at him. “I’m not threatening you, I’m _asking_ you.”

“Asking me?” Graham let out a bitter laugh. “Well, there’s a first. Why don't you just rip out my heart and _force_ me? It’s so much easier, Regina!”

“All right, that’s enough!” Robin flared, standing up and striding toward Graham. “One more word—“

“Get off me, mate!” Graham shoved Robin back. Hook and Neal gasped, exchanging wide-eyed looks as Robin slowly pushed himself back up. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Robin glared at him, seething. “Don’t touch me,” he growled, pointing a threatening finger at him. “And don’t you dare say another word about Regina.”

“You know, I envy you,” Graham said coldly. “You must know a much different Regina than the one I did to defend her like this. Because the one I knew ripped my heart out after I refused to murder Snow White—“

“Awkward,” Snow murmured, lowering her eyes.

“—controlled my every move, purely for her own selfish needs.” Graham’s gaze flickered to Regina, and back to Robin. “ _Every_ need.”

Robin’s brow twitched. “What the bloody hell does that mean?”

“Think about it,” Graham spat. “What do you _think_ it means?”

Tink gasped, shooting her hand up in the air. “I know what it means!” she said wildly. “Pick me, Professor! I know! I know!”

“Tink—“ Emma said, casting a worried look at Henry, who was scrambling out of his chair, desperately trying to escape the table before—

“IT MEANS SHE FORCED HIM TO HAVE SEX WITH HER!”

“ _NO!_ ” Henry wailed, falling to his knees, crying out to the heavens. Neal turned away, holding the back of his hand against his mouth, while Regina stood there, frozen in terror. Belle and Rumple exchanged nauseous looks, sinking lower into their chairs; David and Snow covered their eyes, shaking their heads; Emma hugged Henry to her chest, holding him as he stared with wide, horror-filled eyes into space.

Only Hook seemed unperturbed. “Is that _it?_ Bloody hell, Regina, have at it!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. “Rip _my_ heart out, I’ll take the job!”

“Oh, you’re disgusting!” Ruby spat.

“You had your chance, love,” Hook shrugged. “Shoulda, coulda, woulda. Go on, Regina, I’m ready.”

“I need a drink,” Henry said, breathing raggedly. “Somebody hand me something now.”

“Henry…” Emma said worriedly. “I don’t think—“

Henry ripped himself out of her arms and staggered toward the table, reaching for the wine bottled by David’s plate. 

“Henry—“ Snow began and the same time David said,“Don’t—“

Henry gulped the wine like a man thirsting in the desert, barely even noticing the cloying alcoholic aftertaste. He was probably going to be sick tomorrow morning, maybe later tonight, but that was the least of his worries. He needed to forget what he just heard. He needed a lobotomy, or some kind of special brain surgery to specifically remove that piece of his memory that contained the last two hours. And since he didn’t have any of those close by, a bottle of red would have to do.

“Now look what you did!” Regina said furiously, coming toward Graham. “You turned my kid into an alcoholic! You’ve traumatized him! He’s never going to recover from this, you spineless, worthless, sniveling—“

“Cowering, loathsome, repulsive, pathetic, moronic, vile little man-whore!” Hook finished cheerily “See, Regina, we work _great_ together! Rip my heart out, make me your Huntsman! I’ll even take another crack at killing Snow, if you like!”

“Hook,” David said exasperatedly.

“David,” Hook mimicked.

“Robin!” Regina shrieked as Robin slammed his fist in Graham’s jaw.

“Oh, my God!” Ruby gasped as Graham threw a punch back and Robin’s nose streamed blood. 

“Stop it!” Regina said. “Neal, Hook—get those two away from each other!”

Neal and Hook argued momentarily over who had to restrain Graham, but when Regina yelled, _“NOW!_ ”, they jumped to action: Hook tugging Graham away by his hook, and Neal pulling Robin away, cramming a napkin against his nose. 

“Get off me!” Robin struggled against Neal, still trying to swing his fists.

“Robin, relax,” Neal said impatiently. “It’s over, just drop it.”

“Yeah, just be thankful you got a chance to punch him,” Hook added, smiling at Graham spitefully. “I’ve been craving that since Saturday.”

“Oh, why’s that?” Graham shot back. “Because you think it’s my fault Ruby dumped you?”

The smile disappeared off Hook’s face. “Watch it, mate.”

“Oo- _ooh,_ ” Tink said with relish, her eyes gleaming. “Bad-boys Graham and Hook. _Very_ sexy. If you two want to rip off your shirts and start mud-wrestling—“

“Somebody, shut her up!” Henry yelled, trying to erase the image in his head with more wine. 

“Come on, Professor!” Tink urged, fighting past Belle’s attempts to cover her mouth. “You first! Let’s see those abs!”

“Tink, you’re making everything worse!” Belle said through gritted teeth, trying to clamp her hands over Tink’s mouth. 

“You, too, Captain! Get in there!”

“Tink, shut up!” Belle shouted. 

“And where’s Gorgeous McSexy?”

“STOP!” Henry screamed. “NO, MOM, I NEED THAT!” he added as Emma tugged the bottle out of his hands.

“Henry, you are _not_ developing a drinking problem tonight! Not until you turn twenty-one, and it’s legal!” Emma shouted, fighting his hands.

“I NEED IT!” Henry insisted, reaching for it. “MOM, PLEASE! DON’T YOU LOVE ME?”

“ENOUGH!” Regina screamed.

There was a flash, and an explosion of sparks, and the lights went out. Smoke slowly lifted off the shattered light bulbs, the crackling of frayed electricity the only sound to disturb the silence. Regina slowly lowered her hands, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,”  she said quietly. “That was…unexpected. I didn’t mean to do that.”

Everyone remained silent in the darkness until Rumple finally cleared his throat.

“Um,” he said hesitantly, his voice echoing slightly,” why don’t Belle and I take Henry home with us right now? I think he should probably get some sleep by now.”

“Rumple,” Belle said, the frown audible in her voice. “We’re supposed to catch a flight at eleven.”

“We’ll catch one tomorrow morning,” Rumple assured her. “Regina? Neal? Emma?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Neal said.

“That’s fine,” Emma said numbly.

“Please do,” Regina breathed. 

“Come on, Henry—“ Henry felt a hand on his shoulder as Rumple guided him out of the room, carefully stepping over fallen chairs, glass crunching beneath his feet. “Let’s go.”

“I was right,” Henry said miserably, allowing himself to be led away. “I _am_ leaving way more fucked up than I was before.”

“Oh, we all are, Henry,” Rumple said with forced cheerfulness, patting his shoulder.  “We all are.”

 


	30. Chapter 30

 

The dining room was still silent as Rumple and Belle closed the door behind them. It was still dark, the shattered lightbulbs still sparking and crackling, and no one seemed to know what the next logical thing to do was.

Whale finally assumed authority, clearing his throat. “Okay, Robin, I want to take a look at that nose, because it really shouldn't be bleeding for this long. Graham, get some ice before that starts to bruise. And if you guys could start clearing up this mess while I get Robin squared away, that would be appreciated.”

They all murmured some indistinguishable noises of agreement, shifting their feet around as they tried to navigate around the broken glass. Whale beckoned for Robin to follow him to the bathroom while Graham went to the kitchen and flipped on all the lights to compensate for the dining room’s darkness. 

Snow took it upon herself to take charge after Whale left: she clapped her hands together, just as she did for her fourth-graders, and said in her best teacher voice,” All right, everyone! There’s one, two, three…” she counted the heads quickly. “Nine! Nine of us here, so we can—“

“Roland, don’t touch the glass!” Regina said suddenly, lunging forward to scoop him up. She looked over at Snow, struggling to keep her hold on Roland. “You know what? I’m going to go sit with him in the family room, keep him out of the way.”

“Conveniently unable to help clean up,” Hook remarked, shaking his head. “Damn it. If only _I_ were dating Robin.”

Regina didn't even bother rolling her eyes; she just balanced Roland on her hip and sidestepped the shattered glass on her way to the family room. Snow turned back to the others, smiling with forced cheerfulness.

“Okay, so there’s _eight_ of us here,” she amended. “So, half of us can clean up in here, half of us can take the kitchen.”

“Snow,” Graham said, coming out of the kitchen. “It’s all right, you don’t have to—“

“Don’t worry about it,” Snow said, waving a dismissive hand. “Just sit down, ice that jaw, or you’re going to have a massive bruise tomorrow. Robin packs a mean punch.”

They split themselves into two groups: Ruby, Granny, and Snow took the kitchen, wrapping up food and cleaning plates, while the rest of them set to work on cleaning up glass shards  and clearing the table.

Snow smiled to herself as Emma and Neal seemed to pair themselves up, kneeling on the ground and collecting shards out of the carpet. Her smile faded  when she walked into the kitchen, though: Ruby had already started at the sink, packing away food and rinsing plates. They hadn’t spoken, not since the incident at the diner. They hadn't outright argued, but there had been a cold silence between them for the past few weeks that had only depend as time passed. Snow was afraid to say anything, for fear she might provoke yet another wild outburst tonight.

Granny, on the other hand, was chattering away as she wrapped plastic wrap over bowls and tossed dirty silverware in the sink. “…absolute madness,” she was saying to no one in particular. “And then when the boys started throwing punches? Oh, my God, what a mess. I don’t even remember how it started, it all seems so ridiculous now. And I never thought Graham would have lost his temper like that! I remember when he used to come to the diner late at night… Oh, he could drink and drink, and I never once say him so much as hurt a fly! Well, wait, that’s not true—there was that time Emma came in, they were fighting about something—“

Snow involuntarily glanced at Ruby, whose shoulders had tensed and movements turned jerky. Snow cast a worried look at Granny, who was still babbling on about Emma and Graham. _Shut up!_ Snow thought furiously. _For the love of God, woman, shut up!_

Granny didn’t shut up, though; she didn’t even stop for air. She just kept talking and talking, even as she disappeared through the doorway on her way to retrieve more plates. 

“…Tink really is a shitty nun. I mean, that’s sexual harassment!” was the last thing Snow heard before she and Ruby were left in complete silence, broken only by the sounds of scraping and rinsing. Snow opened her mouth to say something—small talk, an apology, she wasn't sure—but was interrupted by the sounds of footsteps.

She grimaced as Hook poked his head into the kitchen, carrying a tray with several bowls of leftovers on it. “Here’s some more… whatever,” he said, setting it down beside Ruby. 

“Thanks,” Ruby said expressionlessly, scraping potatoes into a plastic container. Snow looked over, raising her eyebrows: Hook didn’t seem to be in a hurry to go. He was hovering by Ruby, shifting his gaze around. 

“Ruby?” he said hesitantly.

“Mmm-hmm?”

“I, uh…” Hook scratched the back of his head nervously. “I just wanted to tell you… I was kidding when I said all that stuff about being Regina’s Huntsman.”

“Okay,” Ruby said, rinsing the plate. 

“I was just trying to break the tension, everything was getting so…” Hook trailed off, watching Ruby continue to rinse plates, barely paying attention to him. “So tense,” he finished lamely.

Ruby nodded, picking up another plate. Hook watched her for another moment, a worried frown on his face. 

“Sorry.”

“Okay.”

“For…you know, saying all that stuff in front of Graham.”

“Okay.”

“And for…for all that jealousy stuff. That got out of control.”

“Okay.”

“And for Tink.”

Ruby looked up at him quizzically. He shrugged.

“I figured someone should apologize for her.”

Ruby barely nodded and went back to her plates without a word. Hook was silent for a few moments, lowering his eyes and tapping his fingers on the counter. Snow looked between the two of them, a little unnerved at how… _human_ Hook was acting: he was almost not entirely detestable.

“I guess I’ll get back to it, then,” he said at last. “Neal and Emma are probably talking about me behind my back, anyway. I want to be there when they start discussing how jealous they are of my general awesomeness.”

“Okay.”

Hook’s smile faded. “Okay,” he echoed. “I’ll just be on my way, then.”

He turned away, keeping his head down as he made his way to the door, accidentally bumping into Snow. “Sorry,” he muttered distractedly. “Didn’t mean to—“

The door burst open, and Granny walked in, carrying the turkey plate. “Ruby, could you clear off the—?” Her widened furiously as they landed on Hook, who looked positively terrified. “ _You!_ ”

“You!” he gasped, scrambling backward. Snow jumped as Granny slammed the plate on the table forcefully, sending little bits of turkey through the air; she advanced on Hook, glaring at him as she backed him into the corner, snarling.

“What are you doing in here? Bothering Ruby again? How many times do I have to tell you, pirate? I don’t want to see your little slut-face anywhere near my granddaughter!”

“I didn’t do anything! I was just dropping off plates!” Hook said wildly. “I swear!”

“Oh, really? It took you an awfully long time for just dropping off plates!”

“It was a _lot_ of plates!” he snapped.

Granny glared at him, curling her lip; Hook glared back, apparently growing braver by the second. Granny lifted her chin, suspiciously narrowing her eyes; Hook stared back defiantly. Granny drew out a long breath, eyeing him with dislike.

“Let me tell you something, pirate—“

“Tell me something, old woman.”

“I’m going to be brutally honest with you here—“

“Go right ahead.”

“I don’t like you—“

“Shocking.”

“I don’t like your slut-face—“

“God help me.”

“I don’t like you talking to my Ruby—“

“Gasp.”

“I don’t like you hanging around her—“

“Clearly.”

“I don’t like the effect you have on her.” Granny waited for Hook’s interjection, but he only raised an eyebrow. “I don’t like the effect you have on her,” she repeated.

“Oh.” 

Granny frowned. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means, ‘oh’.”

“I _know,_ what is supposed to _mean?_ ”

“Beauty of the word ‘oh’,” Ruby said unexpectedly, making Granny and Hook snap their heads to stare at her. Ruby turned around, raising her eyebrows. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Granny frowned, mouthing, _What…?_ Ruby gave a small shrug and turned back around, returning to her plates. Hook watched her, his expression unreadable. 

The awkward silence became too much after another minuted: Snow cleared her throat loudly.

“I believe you were on your way out,” she said to Hook pointedly. 

“Oh, right,” he said, shaking his head to clear it. 

“Something about Emma and Neal making fun of you behind your back, I think?”

“Being jealous of my awesomeness, actually,” he corrected, although he sounded somewhat distracted. “I’ll just go and—oh, my God, would you stop _hissing_ at me?” he snapped at Granny, shoving past her. “I’m going, I’m going!”

“You’re not going fast enough!” Granny spat, following him out the door like an angry duck. “Get out! Don’t come back in here, no one wants you in here, you little man-whore! Come on, out, out , out—“

Ruby appeared out of nowhere, slamming the door shut and locking it. Snow stared as she leaned against the door, shaking slightly as Granny pounded her fist against the other side. Ruby ignored her and looked at Snow, her expression flat and direct. 

“How obvious is it?” she asked, talking over Granny’s insistent knocking.

Snow blinked rapidly, taken aback by Ruby’s sudden willingness to talk to her again. “I’m sorry?”

“How obvious is it?” Ruby repeated, going back to the sink and leaning against the counter to stare at Snow; she smiled back weakly.

“How obvious is what, honey?” 

“Graham,” Ruby said directly. “How obvious is it that he’s not interested in me?”

Snow faltered for a minute, still startled by Ruby’s abruptness. “Can you repeat the question?”

“How obvious is it that Graham isn't interested in me?” Ruby repeated, sounding a little more irritated. Snow let out an unconvincing laugh, shrugging and batting her hand.

“ _What_? Come _on,_ Ruby, of course he’s—“

“Snow.”

“Extremely,” Snow said, nodding her head. 

Ruby gave her a measured look and breathed in, nodding slowly. Snow knocked her fists together listlessly, avoiding Ruby’s gaze. She wasn't quite sure what to say; she didn't want to shatter the delicate truce by saying the wrong thing, but remaining silent felt just as wrong. 

“Ruby…” she said, hesitantly walking toward her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she shrugged.

Snow bit her lip. “I’m sorry about…what I said. In the diner.”

Ruby nodded mutely, not looking at her.

“I didn’t mean…” Snow sighed heavily, leaning against the counter. “Look, at the time, I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn't pick the best way to say it, but I was just so desperate to make you understand—“

“Snow, it’s fi—“

“Please don’t interrupt me,” Snow interrupted. “I was afraid that you were settling for Hook because you just wanted to have _someone_ , no matter how creepy or slutty or obnoxious or annoying or—“ Snow shook her head. “Sorry, I’m getting carried away. My point is, I didn’t want you to just take what you could get, because you deserve _so_ much better, Ruby.”

“I agree.”

“But then seeing you around Graham…?” Snow shook her head, looking at Ruby sadly. “That’s not good, either.”

Ruby clenched her jaw, dropping her eyes to the floor. “Because he likes Emma. Like everyone else.”

“Because he was _dead_ a week ago,” Snow said. “He’s not exactly at an ideal point in his life to be looking for a relationship.”

“And when he _is?_ ” Ruby asked, looking up. She was clearly forcing herself to remain calm, swallowing hard and breathing unevenly. “He’s still not going to be interested, is he?”

“I don’t know about that,” Snow said gently. “He might, he might not. I don’t know.”

Ruby frowned at the ceiling, biting down on her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Snow drew in a deep breath, bracing herself for her next words. She couldn't even believe they’d entered her mind, but there they were—and then they were spilling out of her mouth, almost involuntarily.

“Hook’s right,” she said, grimacing the bad aftertaste the words left. “You’re degrading yourself around Graham. You turn into this vapid, air-headed, giggling moron, and you’re not a vapid, air-headed, giggling moron. I mean, at least around Hook, you still acted like yourself. Maybe a little sluttier,” she added, shrugging. “But that’s probably just his bad influence.”

Ruby turned her head, looking at her incredulously. “Did you just defend Hook?”

“If you tell anyone, I’ll pull a Jaime Lannister and push you out a window,” Snow said abruptly, making Ruby’s eyebrows shoot up.“But yes, I’ve just found the one exception in the entire universe, in all of the infinite heavens, in the endless continuum of space and time…where Hook may be slightly correct.”

“I thought you hated him,” Ruby frowned.

“Oh, my God, yes,” Snow said emphatically. “Like—I want to rip off his head and put it on a spike outside of the Heart-of-Darkness-jungle-cabin in the Congo. And then I want to feed the rest of his corpse to a variety of vicious woodland animals. And then I want to track down his soul in the Underworld, so I can custom-design his own personal hell that will haunt his miserable spirit for the rest of eternity.”

Ruby blinked. “That is…extremely detailed.”

“Yeah, I…got carried away,” Snow admitted. “What I was going to say was…” She trailed off, grimacing as she shook her head. “I can’t. It’s too weird, I can’t.”

“What’s too weird?” Ruby asked, crinkling her brow. “Because after that speech, I am _really_ curious to see what you consider to be _too_ weird. I thought we passed it at ‘vicious woodland creatures’, but apparently I was wrong.”

“You know what?” Snow smiled. “Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything, I was just saying random words, I didn’t mean anything.”

“Snow, tell me,” Ruby frowned, nudging her. “Come on.”

“It’s _nothing,_ really, don’t even worry about it—“

“Tell me,” Ruby said, folding her arms.

Snow looked at her helplessly, bringing her folded hands under her chin. “Don’t make me,” she pleaded. “Please don’t make me.”

Ruby didn’t say anything; she just narrowed her eyes at her intently, clenching her jaw. Snow looked at her pleadingly, biting her lip; Ruby was unmoved. Finally, Snow gave up, heaving a sigh and slumping her shoulders.

“He seems to…” The rest of her words were lost in a grudging murmur. Ruby frowned, craning her neck.

“What did you say?”

“I said, he seems to…” She managed an imperceptibly louder murmur. 

 _“What?_ ”

“He seems to… _care—_ “ Snow coughed out the word, her face spasming in disgust—“about you.”

Ruby stared at her, surprise flickering through her features. “Sorry?”

“No, I’m not saying it again. I already have to drink a gallon of holy water to wash out the taste from the first time,” Snow said decisively. “You heard me. Just…do with that what you will, and don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“You’re not just saying that so I won’t be mad at you anymore, are you?” Ruby asked, suddenly suspicious. “You’re not just saying that because you feel guilty for everything from before—?”

“Ruby, if I was trying to do any of that, I would have bought you Bradley Cooper,” Snow said over her. 

Ruby blinked, and smiled faintly at her. “Well, it would still be a nice gesture on your part,” she said. “I’m still a little mad.”

“How mad?” Snow asked, raising her eyebrows. 

“Not very.” Ruby grinned. “Nothing Bradley can’t fix.”

 

* * *

 

“Thanks, guys,” Whale said as they huddled near the door, holding the bundle of coats in his arms. He started passing them out as each person filed out the door with a nod and a, “Thanks for coming.”

Neal gave Whale a brief smile as he took his coat, shrugging it on as he walked out the door. After a ten-minute-long discussion on carpooling, Neal had agreed to drive Regina and Robin home, since neither were in a safe-enough mindset for late-night driving; then he and Hook would take Neal’s car, which was still parked in Regina’s driveway, and head back to Granny’s—but only after a safe fifteen-minute buffer zone, which would give Ruby and Granny time to get home and out of sight by the time Neal and Hook arrived, so that Hook could avoid the awkwardness of bumping into the two of them. 

So, since he had to wait, anyway, Neal decided to hang back and wait for Emma to emerge from the house. He didn’t have anything to say in particular, but she’d been kind of quiet when they were cleaning up in the dining room together and Neal really didn't feel like staying up all night to ponder what her silence could have meant, dissecting every gesture she made. It wasn't like he was going to ask her for a huge, in-depth discussion on where she was at now, after everything Regina said—he just wanted to test the waters. 

Emma looked mildly surprised to see him hanging back and hovering near the end of the porch. “Hey,” she said, flipping her hair out of her coat as she walked down the steps. 

“ _Hey…_ ”Neal said hesitantly, suddenly forgetting why exactly he needed to talk to Emma. Was this a mistake? This felt like a mistake. Maybe he should just go home, not worry about it, try to ignore the awkwardness as best as he could—

“Are you okay?” Emma asked, stopping on the step above him.

“I’ve been worse,” he shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

Emma gave him a strange look, smiling faintly. “Okay. It’s just…you look like you have something on your mind.”

“ Meh… Just thinking about everything that happened today. It was pretty dramatic.” 

“Oh. Yeah.”

Neal rocked back on his heels,while Emma shifted uncomfortably, looking at her feet. Why was it suddenly so hard to talk to her? 

“Sorry about all the yelling earlier,” she said finally. “Things got ugly fast.”

Neal waved a dismissive hand. “At least we got everything out in the open now.”

Emma’s eyes widened briefly. “Right,” she said. “Everything’s out in the open.” 

Regina’s words hung heavily between them, making the air thick, almost solid. Neither of them seemed able to say anything more; at least, Neal couldn’t. He had already screamed out all his frustrations and anger. There didn't seem to be anything left to say.

“Man, that Regina says some crazy things sometimes,” he said finally, forcing a chuckle. 

“Oh, yeah,” Emma said, smiling uncomfortably. “Crazy.”

“Just…says things.”

“She does.”

“Things that—“

“Neal,” Emma said suddenly, talking over him. 

“Hmm?”

“I just want one-word answers, okay?”

He blinked. “Okay.”

Emma blew out a breath, putting her hands on her hips. “Did she get everything right?”

“Uh…” Neal anxiously scratched his head. He didn’t like this. he didn't like talking about feelings in any capacity, they were so messy and disorganized and uncomfortable—

“Just answer the question, Neal,” Emma said, looking at her shoes.

“Yes.”

Emma nodded. “Okay,” she said carefully. “Me, too.”

“Okay.”

That seemed to be all they were going to say on the matter. And even though it wasn't much, it felt like enough. 

“Just so you know,” Emma said after a while, “I think I’m going to keep my distance from  Graham for now.”

Neal raised his eyebrows, nodding slightly. “Probably a good idea, he doesn’t look like he’s in the best place right now.”

“Yeah…” Emma fiddled with her sleeves: she seemed to be waiting for Neal to say something, but Neal wasn't quite sure what she was waiting for him to say. Had she been dropping a hint? Had she just been stating the fact for general interest? Had she been testing to see how he’d react?

“Hey, guys,” Hook said, saving him the trouble of thinking of something to say. He stopped on the steps next to Emma, looking between the two of them with a frown on his face. “What are you doing?”

“Just talking,” Neal shrugged.

Hook raised an eyebrow. “Awfully quiet for talking,” he remarked. 

“Well, we sensed your presence, and we were so overcome with awe, it just struck us speechless,” Emma said seriously. 

“Right,” Hook said, as if he wasn't really listening. “You almost ready, Neal?”

“Nearly. I thought you wanted to wait anyway?” he frowned.

“Yeah, _wait,_ not have a sleepover here,” Hook said, shifting his eyes around. “I’m so sick of this house right now. Can we just go?”

“In a minute. I’m talking to Emma,” Neal said, gesturing to her. “You can wait in the car, it’s unlocked.”

“All right, then.” Hook blew out a breath, and turned to Emma, pulling her in for a hug. “See you tomorrow, love.”

“Bye.”

Hook turned to Neal, heaving a sigh. “Neal, I’d hug you, but your eyes are saying, ‘ _Go away, Hook. Go far away._ ’”

“Just as far as the car’ll do,” Neal said cheerfully. Hook held up his arms in surrender.

“Point taken, I’m going. Hug before I go?”

“ _Goodbye, Hook_.”

Hook hopped off the stair, running his hand over the top of Neal’s head to annoy him as he passed by. Emma snorted, watching him go.

“He’s so immature.”

“Pain in the ass.”

Emma smiled at Neal, somewhat apologetically. “Can I apologize on his behalf for earlier?”

“The…extremely detailed Neverland anecdote?”

“Yep.”

“Ah.” Neal smiled  uncomfortably. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“You’re sure?” Emma said, raising her eyebrows worriedly. “Because I’ll kick his ass for you, if you want.”

“That’s okay.”

They lapsed back into awkward silence, both painfully aware that the conversation wasn't over, and equally reluctant to be the first to try to break the silence. 

“So,” Emma said finally, her voice probably a little louder than she intended. “I-I know what you said about the whole…the bro-situation thing, and how you—-“ she waved her hands nervously—“you know, how you don’t want to jump back into anything, but…” 

Neal kept his expression nonchalant. “Well… I mean, there’s a difference between _jumping back into things_ and… _easing_ back into things.” He looked up, trying gauge her response: her eyebrows lifted slightly, her mouth hanging barely open.

“You’re right,” she said finally, taking on his casual tone. “Yeah, _easing_ back into things is completely different than jumping back into things.”

“Right.”

“Okay.”

“So…so maybe we could hang out…around each other sometime.”

“That sounds…fine.”

Another silence fell between them: different, this time; less awkward, although still plenty awkward. Both of them made sure to retain their nonchalance, ridiculously loyal to the “easing back” principle. After a minute, Neal found the silence unbearable.

“Yeah, so…” He kicked the ground with his toe, trying to look casual. “I don’t know.  Maybe next time you’re having a cup of coffee at the diner, you’ll see me having a cup of coffee at the diner, and we could…like, drink coffee at the same time.”

“That would be good,” Emma said, nodding slowly. “Uh—you know, maybe we could—“ she waved her hand, shrugging—“like, sit in the vicinity of each other while we drink our coffee.”

“Yeah, we could do that,” Neal said, bobbing his head. “And, maybe, we could—I don’t know—talk or something, if we get bored.”

“Yeah,” Emma shrugged. “And you know…maybe we could hang out similarly during other mealtimes, like… like lunch or dinner or something.”

“Yeah,” Neal said nonchalantly. “Dinner would be fine. I mean, we got to eat dinner at some point anyway, so…you know, might as well eat it at the same time.”

“Whatever,” Emma said, looking off to the side. “And maybe…maybe we could, like, do a thing where we only we do that with each other, or something. Like a—“ she flopped her hand—“you know, similar to a date-kind-of-thing.”

“Hmm,” Neal said, nodding his head thoughtfully. “That would be okay.”

“Yeah?” Emma said, examining her fingernails. “Okay, we could do that, then.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They stood there for another moment, shifting their eyes around between their shoes and their surroundings, the picture of indifference. Because it wasn't like it was a big deal or anything. There was no reason to get all… _feeling-_ ish about it, it was just two grown-ass people hanging out together like grown-ass people did sometimes. Nothing weird, nothing to see here. No jumping back into anything. Just…yeah.

“Okay, so I’ll see you,” Neal said finally, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, sure,” Emma said, looking up. “Probably, like…I don’t know…nine-ish tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah, I’ll probably be drinking coffee around that time,” he shrugged, making a mental note to set his alarm. 

“Yeah,” Emma said, twisting her hands in her pockets. “That works out okay, because I’ll probably be drinking coffee around that time, too.”

“Probably would be sitting in the diner for a while… might order some toast or something.”

“Toast is good. I might get in on that.”

“But it’s kind of boring, so…like, we could talk…while we eat our toast.”

“Yeah, that would make the toast more interesting probably,” Emma nodded. “Also jam.”

Neal frowned. “What?”

“Jam?” Emma repeated, a little nervously “To make the toast more interesting?”

“Jam isn't interesting,” Neal scoffed. 

“It’s more interesting than butter,” Emma said, frowning slightly. 

“Not really.”

“You can have a variety of jams,” she argued. “Strawberry, blackberry, raspberry, apricot—“

“So what?”

“So, how many different kinds of butter can you have?”

“Why do you need various butters?”

“You _don’t_ need. It’s just, it would make it more interesting. That’s my argument—that the jam is more interesting than the butter. I never said it was more _essential._ ”

“Well, good. I prefer butter on my toast. I think butter is more essential than jam, hands down.”

“As do I.”

“Good.” 

 


	31. Chapter 31

 

“Can I please get some coffee here?” Hook said loudly, leaning over the counter. “ _Hello?”_

The diner was a little busier than usual, and the coffee line ridiculously busier than usual. Everyone was looking for their morning caffeine boost to help spur their Black Friday shopping spree: people needed lots of energy to be able to claw at each other’s faces as they fought over the last Barbie Dream House. 

Even so, that was no excuse for Granny blatantly ignoring him: she’d walked by him and his outreached coffee cup several times, carrying a full coffee pot. It would have been next to no trouble for her to simply stop, pour him a shot of coffee, and continue on with her miserable existence. 

“This is _ridiculous!_ ” he told her as she passed by him again. “He _llo?_ ”

“Oh, no, did you piss off Granny?” Neal’s voice said behind him. Hook whirled around to see him and Emma, both of them grinning smugly at him as they held their to-go coffee cups. He glared at them jealously.

“Where did you get those?”

“Granny,” Emma said cheerfully. “She likes us.”

“Question is, why doesn’t she like you?” Neal grinned, knowing perfectly well what the answer was. “You do tip, don’t you?”

“Wretched old woman,” Hook growled. 

“ _Wretched old woman,_ ” Emma imitated him, scrunching her face into a scowl. Hook frowned.

“Emma, don’t be rude.”

“ _Emma, don’t be rude._ ” She took a sip of coffee, her eyes gleaming at his irritation before traveling up to the clock. “Neal, we should probably get going. We’re running late.”

“Late for what?” Hook asked.

“For not spending time with you,” Emma said immediately. Hook rolled his eyes at her and turned to Neal, raising his eyebrows.

“Late for what?” he repeated.

“We’re going to pick up the keys from Henry, and drop him off at David’s,” Neal explained. “Then I think we’re going to hang out for a bit.”

“What keys?” Hook frowned. “I don’t remember keys. My keys?”

“Actually, one set’s the library keys, so they _are_ yours for the next couple weeks,” Neal said, taking a sip of coffee. “Belle told me to tell you she wants you to take over while she’s gone.”

“ _Ugh,_ ” Hook grimaced. He hated working in the library: it meant he couldn't hang out with Neal and Emma at the station. But at least he wouldn't have to see Graham—there was the silver lining.

“And then _I_ get the other set,” Neal said happily. “Keys to the house. I get to house-sit.”

“Ooh, I want to house-sit,” Hook said, sitting up. “Let me house-sit with you, I need a break from the diner.”

“No. I need a break from you.”

“Neal, don’t be mean to me. Let me house-sit with you.”

“Well…hmm, let me thi— _no._ ”

“Neal,” Hook whined. “Can’t you—?”

He broke off as Granny walked back behind the counter, holding the coffee pot. “Coffee, woman, coffee!” he yelled, lunging across the counter with his cup. 

“ _Okay…_ we’re going to go now,” Emma said.

“Bye, Killy,” Neal said, flicking his head.

“Yeah, bye, whatever—GIVE ME SOME COFFEE, LUCAS!”

Granny whirled around, the coffee sloshing against the carafe. “Did you just yell at me?”

“I’ve been sitting here for the better part of an hour, and you still haven't served me!”

Granny narrowed her eyes, her mouth a thin line. “That’s because, I’m retaining my right as a businesswoman to refuse service to anyone.”

“Trust me, old woman, I’m not interested in any _services_ coming from you,” he shot back, glaring at her. “I just want some bloody coffee.”

“I’ll give you a bloody nose before I give you bloody coffee,” Granny spat.

Hook raised his eyebrows. “By _God,_ that’s clever! Did everyone hear that?” he asked loudly, twisting in his seat. “Tell me you all heard that, it was _brilliant!_ ”

“You know, I can also throw you out of my diner!” Granny snapped. “I can throw you out of my inn! And then you’d be homeless, wouldn't you? Living in a little box by the docks, sharing food scraps with the pigeons, using a newspaper at night to keep warm! Coffee is the least of your worries, man-whore!” 

Hook stared at her, open-mouthed. The bloody _nerve_ of that woman! And, to top it off, she curled her lip disdainfully and said, “Now, if you’ll _excuse_ me… I have customers to take care of.”

“I hope you break your hip!” he shouted after her. He slumped in his seat, looking gloomily down at his empty cup. Now what? He needed coffee. He couldn't start the day _without_ coffee. He simply couldn't function without it. 

The bell tinkled as the door open, and his salvation walked in: _Tink._ She was wearing heavy sunglasses, her bun a lot sloppier than usual, and judging from the way she was walking and the memory of last night, she was dealing with an epic hangover.

 _Of course._ She’d need coffee, which meant she’d order coffee, which meant he could get her to order coffee for him! Brilliant!

“Tink!” He bounded toward her, shoving past people in line to get to her. Tink looked up, briefly lowering her sunglasses down her nose.

“What do you want?” she asked, pushing them back up. 

“I need a favor.”

“No.”

“Tink,” he said warningly, putting out his hand to stop her from moving past him. “Come on.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I’m not a nice girl. Now, get out of my way.”

Hook narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t think you want to antagonize me right now, love.”

“Ooh, I’m shaking in my— _WHY?_ ” she screamed as he ripped off her sunglasses, sending the sunlight streaming into her eyes. Hook watched her wail, crumpling over the sun’s intrusive rays, a cruel smile on his face. Now, the world would know: never cross a decaffeinated Killian Jones.

“I’ll give them back, if you do me a favor,” he said enticingly.

“That’s what she said,” Tink moaned, holding her hand out for her sunglasses. Hook grinned, and tossed them to her: between the two of them, an innuendo, or opportunity for one, never went unacknowledged.

Tink slowly stood up, sighing. She looked at him for a minute (at least, he thought she did, he couldn't tell behind those glasses). “How big a favor?” she asked wearily. “Like, could-you-hand-me-that-pen-size-favor, or help-me-hide-this-body-size-favor?”

“The first one.”

“Oh. Well, that’s not too bad, then. What do you need?”

“Coffee,” he said promptly. “I need you to order for me, because Granny and I…well, because Granny and I.”

“Is that it?”

“That’s it.”

“Okay,” she shrugged. “Find us a table.”

Hook looked around while Tink went to the counter, zeroing in on a group of women chattering at a table. _Excellent._ Women tended to be quite receptive to him—provided they didn’t know him, on a personal basis.

Two minutes of some admittedly over-the-top-flirting later, he was seated at the table, humming, as Tink came by with two cups in her hand. “Here,” she said, sliding one over to him as she took her seat. 

“Thank you, darling,” he said, taking a grateful sip. He closed his eyes, savoring the rich, bitter flavor. _God,_ that was good. “Oh, I can’t tell you how good this is. I was sitting there for _ages,_ but that horrid old woman just walked right by me. And then, do you know, she has the _nerve_ to threaten to throw me out? Unbelievable! She shouldn't be talking like that to her paying customers, especially ones like me, who’ve been loyal for a good two—“

“Hook,” Tink said through her teeth. “It’s too early, and I’m too hungover. Stop talking.”

He grinned at her slyly. “Don’t you mean ‘Captain Sexy’?” 

“Bit egotistical, don’t you think?” Tink scoffed, raising her eyebrows.

“Not really. You came up with it.”

She frowned. “What?”

Hook looked at her over the top of his cup, raising his eyebrows. “I said, you came up with it,” he said, and took another sip as Tink stared at him.

“When was this?” 

He swallowed and exhaled loudly. “Last night.”

“Last night?”

“At Graham’s.” He grinned at her panicked expression. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“I don’t remember _anything_ ,” she breathed, her eyes wild.

“Well, that’s expected,” he shrugged, setting down his cup. “You were incredibly drunk. I don’t think _I’ve_ ever been that drunk.”

“Oh, my God,” Tink groaned, putting her face in her hands. “I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it, love.”

“I called you _Captain Sexy?_ ” Tink said, dropping her hands. “For real?”

“Oh, yeah. We had a regular boys’ club going. Let’s see,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “There was Professor Sexy…Dr. Sexy…Captain Sexy, that’s me…I think we even had a Gorgeous McSexy in there.”

Tink eyed him warily. “Who was Gorgeous McSexy?”

Hook grinned at her. “I’ll give you a hint. His name rhymes with ‘Schleal Schlassidy.’”

“No!” Tink wailed, crumpling over the table. 

“And that was barely the tip of the iceberg. You said the most _humiliating_ things!” Hook laughed gleefully. 

Tink said something a muffled voice, whimpering into the table. He cupped his hand around his ear, leaning forward.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

“I said, what else did I say?” she said miserably, lifting her head.

“Well, let’s see…. I seem to recall you demanding that Graham and I—“ he cleared his throat, flourishing his hand to quote her—“ _rip off our shirts and start mud-wrestling._ ”

“Oh, _God._ ”

“And you offered me twenty bucks to sleep with you.”

Tink stared at him with wide eyes. “I did?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he nodded. 

“And…?” Tink looked at him worriedly, knitting her brow. Hook stared back for a minute, forcing himself to keep a straight face.

“You owe me twenty bucks.”

“ _What?”_ Tink gasped, clutching the sides of the table with both hands.

“Twenty bucks, love. You never paid me.”

“Oh, my _God!_ ” she said, horrified. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”  He held out his hand. “Pay up, or I’m going to have my pimp come after you.”

“ _Hook!_ ”

He laughed, ducking as she swung her hand out to hit him. “But honestly, Tink, if you weren't such a whore…”

“ _You’re_ the whore, you’re the one getting paid.”

“You’re right. So, that actually makes you more pathetic, because…”

He trailed off as the bell tinkled, and Ruby walked into the diner with several shopping bags hanging from her arms.

“Hook?” Tink frowned, and waved her hand in front of his face. “Hook.”

“Captain Sexy, to you,” he said absently, shifting in his seat to look over Tink’s head: Ruby caught his eye, hesitated for a second, and then— _Oh, my God, she’s coming over here,_ he thought, a panicked feeling rising in his chest. _Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God._

“Hi, guys,” she said awkwardly, stopping in front of them. She shifted her gaze to Hook, attempting a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he croaked. 

Ruby smiled a little more convincingly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said, mirroring her faint smile. 

She hesitated, as if she wanted to say more. “Hi.”

“Hi—“

“ _Are_ you high?” Tink asked abruptly, looking between the two of them. Hook kicked her under the table, still smiling at Ruby. 

“I, uh… I see you’ve got some shopping done,” he said, gesturing toward her bags.

“Oh. Yeah,” she said, looking down at her bags. “Just doing my Christmas shopping.” She smiled, shrugging. “You know, Black Friday. Good deals. I was up at three this morning.”

“Three?” he repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Not really. But I did drink an entire pot of coffee to myself, so I stayed awake all right.”

Hook let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of coffee.”

“Well, it was a lot of shopping,” she shrugged. “I was out for nearly seven hours.”

“Eww,” he said, wrinkling his nose at the thought of being out for _that_ long, _that_ early, in _that_ cold. “Did you get everything done, then?”

Ruby looked at him for a minute, tilting her head. “I’m not sure.”

Hook looked at her curiously, unsure of how to respond. Did that mean something? Was it supposed to mean something, or was he just reading too far into it? She was talking to him, much friendlier than she’d been the last few days… but she was still behaving extremely cautiously. Was this a good sign or bad sign? He crossed his fingers for “good sign”, but the way his luck was running lately…

“Do you need some help with those?” he asked finally, shaking his head to clear it.

“Oh—that’s okay. I was just on my way to put these away,” Ruby said, smiling tightly and nodding her head. “Away in…in my room.”

“Ah, yeah. Right…” _Awkward, awkward, awkward._

“So…I’ll see you later, then,” Ruby said, giving them one last uncomfortable smile for the road. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he said, holding up a hand as she walked away; he slowly lowered it as she disappeared from sight, turning to Tink with wide eyes. “What does it mean?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“What does what mean?” she frowned. 

“Ruby, what she said! The whole thing! What did it mean?”

“How the hell should I know?” she shrugged, taking another sip. “Girls don’t have female-to-female telepathy, you know. We’re not all interlinked by our minds.”

“You don’t?” He felt slightly disappointed. “I suppose you don’t have pillow fights in lingerie, either.”

“Oh, sure we do,” Tink deadpanned. “All the time. I have to clear my schedule in advance for all the sleepovers I have to attend.”

“Okay, we’re going to talk about that later, but right now, I really got to ask you—“ Hook looked at her intently—“what did it _mean?_ ”

“I don’t _know,”_ she said, staring back. “I already told you.”

“Can you find out?”

“Can I find out? No.”

“Oh, come on, Tink…”

“Nope.”

Hook frowned, rubbing his thumb against his lips thoughtfully; then snapped his fingers. “I can make it worth your while,” he said, pointing at her.

Tink raised an eyebrow. “Going to cut me a deal on the twenty-bucks-fee? No, thanks.”

“If you talk to Ruby for me, I’ll talk to Neal for you,” he said, choosing not to tell her that Neal and Emma seemed to be approaching a delicate situation. Tink lifted her chin, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

“You’ll talk to Neal for me?”

“Yep,” he said, nodding profusely. “I’ll talk to him.”

“You’ll talk me up?”

“Like it would be possible to talk you _down._ ”

Tink inhaled deeply, considering him. “All right,” she said at last. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“You will?” he said delightedly, beaming at her. “Oh, Tink, I could kiss you! Except, I’m afraid I’d catch something, like herpes or something.”

Tink glared at him. “You’re such an asshole.”

“I know, but you’re _such_ a whore…”

 


	32. Chapter 32

 

Regina twisted her ring around her middle finger, waiting for Robin to say something: right now, he was just staring straight ahead, utterly…what? Stunned…overwhelmed…unnerved? She couldn't tell, she’d never seen him like this. 

“Robin?”

“What?” he croaked.

“Please say something,” she said quietly.

His eyes flickered. “Something.”

“Robin…” Regina sighed, hanging her head. She had just given him the full and detailed account of her history with Graham: everything from those early days in the Enchanted Forest to that last day in Storybrooke. 

Well, except for the “crushing his heart” bit. Robin had been emotionally scarred enough for one day; that little anecdote could wait for a later time…or never, whatever.

She looked at her ring, twisting it around her finger. It was the ring Daniel had given her, all those years ago…right before Cora had crushed his heart right in front of her.

Cora. The woman who she loved with all her heart, and hated with with her entire soul. Her mother and her tormentor. The woman who had built her up, and tore her down; turned her into a monster, and into a queen. Regina studied the tiny jewel in the ring, trying to remind herself why she wanted to resurrect her in the first place.

_You would have been enough._

That was why.

Regina couldn't remember ever feeling like her mother loved her…but she did remember loving her mother. As a little girl, she _craved_ that warm, homey feeling of love: the one her father (well, adopted father) emanated, propping her up on his knee, tickling and hugging her as she squealed with laughter like a normal little girl. And then there was Cora: cold, stern, wry…but every so often, she spared her a kind word or a soft look, and a flash of motherliness overtook her. And that was what addicted Regina to her approval.

But that never happened. No matter how much she tried, how much she forced herself into the mold Cora created her, Regina could never satisfy her. And after a time, that desperation turned to hatred; which turned to madness; which turned to becoming _exactly like her._

And then when Regina had decided to try to change everything she had become for Henry’s sake, and then later for Robin’s sake, she had stopped hating Cora. Because at this point, she understood: it was an illness, an affliction, to be like that. Cora had no heart, no love—she was terminally ill with misery. And that was how she died.

But if Regina could cure herself…couldn’t Cora? Regina had so much more light in her life with Henry, than Cora had with the already-jaded, heartbroken teenaged-girl Regina had been. Maybe that was why she only got worse and worse; maybe bringing her back, and giving her the support Regina had depended on would make all the difference.

And if not, Whale and Archie could just pump her full of Valium and sedatives to keep her docile. But that was Option _B._

She was startled out of her thoughts when Robin suddenly stood up. “Where  are you going?”

“I have to go pick up Roland from preschool,” he said, not looking at her. Regina narrowed her eyes.

“You only dropped him off an hour ago,” she said.

“Well, I…” Robin’s eyes darted around, looking for inspiration. “I have to go buy him a new coat,” he said finally. “His winter coat is falling apart.”

“Robin.” Regina stood up, looking at him concernedly. “Talk to me.”

“About what?” he said, forcing a smile on his face. “There’s no need, Regina. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re upset. And I understand completely why you would be, but—“

“I’m not upset,” Robin shrugged.

“Yes, you _are,_ ” she insisted. “And it’s okay, I get it—“

“It’s fine, Regina,” he said, smiling through clenched teeth. “Really.”

She inhaled sharply, trying to control her frustration. “Why are you doing this?” she asked tensely. “Why are you pretending to be fine, when you’re _clearly_ not fine?”

“I _am_ fine.”

“No, you’re not!” she said, stamping her foot. “Just _talk_ to me, okay?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You were a different person then,” Robin said, as though he were reciting a history lesson. “You made lots of mistakes, but you’ve come so far—“

Her temper was starting to rise. “Robin—“

“—know you would never do anything like that now, because you’ve worked so hard—“

“Robin,” she repeated, breathing hard. “Just stop.”

“—have faith in you, that you’ve put all that behind you—“

“ _Robin!_ ”

The mirror shattered behind her. Robin ducked, bringing his elbows over his head as shards of glass exploded through the air. Regina looked around wildly, her hands shaking.

“Are you okay?” she asked, kneeling down beside Robin, who was gingerly pushing himself back up.

“Yeah, I-I’m fine. For _real,_ ” he added, catching her wary look. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” she said anxiously, looking down at her hands. “I just…I lost control, I was all worked up, and…. I don’t know.”

“This happened last night, too, didn't it?” Robin asked, peering at her concernedly. “I don’t understand. You’ve gotten upset before, you’ve never just—you know— _burst out_ like that. Remember when Roland spilled grape juice on the carpet? Not even a spark.”

Regina barely heard him. She looked down at her still trembling hands, breathing shakily. Maybe it was because of everything that had happened: so close together, so explosive and earth-shattering, and all at the same time, fueling each other’s fires. Maybe being so emotionally unstable made her magic unstable, made her lose control over it.

Oh, God…she wasn't _dangerous,_ was she?

The more she thought about it, the more her stomach twisted in panic and fear. What if she hurt Henry? What if she hurt Robin? What if she hurt Roland? _Well, at least the carpet will be safe,_ she thought miserably. 

“Regina?” Robin cautiously put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m… I’m all right now,” she said, slowly getting up. “But maybe you should go. I don’t want to… _explode_ again.”

“I’m not leaving,” Robin said firmly. 

Regina sighed, her head falling back. “Robin, don't argue with me. Not now.”

“I set you off, I’m staying,” he said stubbornly. “I was being an ass earlier, and it set you off, so I’m staying until you’re…un-set-off.”

“It wasn't you, it was everything,” Regina said wearily. 

“Everything?” Robin repeated, crinkling his brow. “That’s an awful lot to deal with on your own. I think I should stay.”

“I disagree,” she said, looking at him intently. “You should leave. I need some time to deal with us.”

“Regina—“

“ _Goodbye,_ Robin.”

Robin looked at her with anxious eyes and, realizing she wasn't going to change her mind, slowly walked to the door. Regina waited a minute, then turned and sank onto the couch.

“Regina?”

She looked up: he was hovering by the door.

“What I said earlier…about going to pick up Roland?”

“Yeah?”

“I wasn't really going to pick up Roland.”

Regina lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah. I know.”

“I was going to go find Graham, and punch him.”

“Again?”

“Yes. And then again after that.”

“That is…uncharacteristically violent of you.”

“And then I was going to pull out the crossbow.”

“Oh, my God,” she sighed, putting her head in her hands.

“And then I was going to go pick up Roland, drop him off with Will, and go back to finish what I started.”

“Finish in what capacity?” Regina lifted her head, raising her eyebrows. “And how involved would your crossbow be?”

“Fairly involved,” he shrugged. 

“Well, that’s very grounded of you,” she said, straightening up and looking at her hands. They had stopped shaking now; her breathing had returned to a normal pace; and her heart was no longer slamming against her chest. 

“Are you…okay?” Robin approached her hesitantly, a slight frown on his face. “Regina?”

“I’m fine,” she said, half-surprised, standing up. 

“That’s…good, isn’t it?” Robin bent to the side, trying to make eye contact. “You seem distressed.”

“No, no…I’m just…” She looked up at him, shaking her head. “I don’t know. I’m fine right now, but that magic-explosion-thing…it was just so out of nowhere.”

“And you’re worried about it happening again,” Robin finished for her. “You know, Regina, it might be a good idea for you to call Archie. He could help you get a handle on your emotions…maybe that would help you get a handle back on your magic.”

“Oh—“ Regina snorted, tossing her head back. “ _Everyone_ says they’re going to call Archie, they never do it. How many times did we tell Hook we were going to force him into going? I don’t think he’s even been inside the building.”

“Then we’ll call right now,” Robin shrugged, pulling out his cell phone. “Make good on the promise.”

“Wait, are you actually calling?” Regina said, looking over his shoulder. Her eyes widened  as he put the phone to his ear. “ _Robin!”_

He frowned, putting a finger to his lips and mouthing, _Shh._

 _Don’t!_ she mouthed back, but Robin ignored her, only holding up his finger as he listened. 

“Yes, Dr. Archibald Hopper’s office, please? Thanks.” Robin waited, then raised his eyebrows. “Oh. There’s Muzak.”

Regina rolled her eyes as he started bopping his head in time to the rhythm. “Robin, hang up, I don’t want to—“

“Hello, Dr. Hopper!” he said brightly. “Yes, I wanted to make an appointment…Yes, Regina Mills.” He waited a minute, then pressed his hand against the mouthpiece, whispering to Regina, “He wants to know where you stand on updating Pongo’s license.”

Regina frowned. “I stand in the same spot I’ve been standing. He still has to do it.”

“She says, you still have to do it,” Robin said into the phone, and listened for another minute. “He says, you can come in on Monday if he doesn’t have to update the license. If not, you’ll have to wait until December fifteenth.”

“Regina shook her head, bewildered. “I’m sorry—what is so hard about updating a dog license?”

“Did you get that, Archie?” Robin listened, nodding. “He says, it’s not the updating of the license; it’s the obligation. He feels trapped.”

“I don’t give a damn if he feels trapped, it’s the law!”

“It’s the law, Archie,” Robin sighed into the phone. “No, I don’t know, but Regina is the mayor and—okay….Okay, yes, I will tell her,” He put the phone to his chest. “He says, he can’t help you if he feels trapped, because it prevents him from reaching his full potential as a therapist.”

“Fine. I’ll take the fifteenth,” she hissed. “And you can tell him that if he doesn't update the license by Monday, he _will_ be trapped—in a holding cell.”

Robin frowned. “I don’t think you can imprison someone over a dog license.”

Regina raised her eyebrows coolly. “Watch me.”

 


	33. Chapter 33

 

Henry tugged the library door open, wincing as the cold metal bit into his gloveless fingers. His backpack hung heavily on his shoulders, the bottom threatening to fall out from the weight of all his textbooks. This was going to a _miserable_ Saturday. All that schoolwork he had skimped on during the last month had now come back to haunt him: this was the day he had to catch up on it, or he was going to flunk the ninth grade before it was even half over. 

To make things worse, he had semester exams the week before Christmas, which he hadn't even _begun_ studying for. Between those, and the _Magical Theory_ books Regina had given him, he barely had time to breathe. 

Henry tossed his stuff on a table, quite pitying himself as he dumped the contents out and started arranging them. This was going to suck. He was going to be here for _hours_ , reading through all that tiny, nauseatingly dull print and being forced to retain it. This was really going to—

“Oh, goddamn it,” he said, just now recognizing the tall figure behind the desk, sitting with his feet propped up on the counter as he flipped through a book: Hook.

Heny exhaled frustratedly. What was _he_ doing here? The one place Henry had thought would always be a sanctuary from his stupid slut-face—and here he was, lounging in Belle’s chair like he owned the place. Henry hadn't really been paying attention when Belle had given him the library key, so he supposed she could have said something about it then: it didn't make it any less of an unpleasant surprise. 

He rolled his eyes at the prospect of dealing with Hook, and pulled out his chair to start the dreaded task of homework. _Let’s see,_ he thought, twirling his pencil. _What shall I torment myself with first?_

There was the history paper, that was going to be a nasty piece of work: he had to compare all the third-party political groups of the Industrial era. _Why_ Sister Astrid (a fairy, for God’s sake) would be interested in that, he didn’t know. 

There were the endless calculus problems, everything from simple derivatives to complicated word problems. Those wouldn't be as bad, but those were better saved for once he had been tired out some: wasting his focus on work that didn't require as much as focus was inefficient. 

Then there was the biology homework: three thick chapters of complicated cell parts and functions, long words with lots of vowels and Latin names….that was a bit too daunting for ten in the morning.

 _History, it is,_ he thought miserably, getting up to find some books on the Industrial Revolution. He craned his neck, squinting to read the titles printed on the books lining the shelves. A few of them looked promising, so he plucked them off the shelf and tucked them under his arm

After gathering a small pile he approached the desk, where Hook was frowning down at a page. Henry dropped the books carelessly on the desk, and cleared his throat. 

Hook glanced up from his book, raising an eyebrow.

“I need you to check these out for me,” Henry said flatly.

“Excuse me?”

“The books. I need you to check them out.”

Hook frowned slightly, and leaned forward in his chair to peer at the books on the desk. Slowly, he flipped through one.

 “All right,” he said, pushing it back to Henry. “Looks good. Enjoy.”

Henry stared at him. “I mean, you have to _log_ them out. With the computer.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Hook said in dawning comprehension. “Right.” 

He slid his feet off the desk, tossing his book down. Henry tilted his head to read the title as Hook pulled the small stack of books over: _Swan, Geese, and Other Waterfowl._

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing. Hook glanced over.

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “Just looking up some facts about swans. I was trying to come up with some fresh insults for Emma, but swans are actually really boring. The most interesting  thing I found was that female swans are called ‘pens’.” Hook blew out a breath, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

Henry raised his eyebrows, shrugging. “Well, I have to admire your dedication. Not a lot of people research to be an asshole.”

“No, some of us are naturally gifted,” Hook smiled sarcastically.

Henry mirrored his smile. “Can I just have my books?” he said, holding out his hand.

“Hang on. I can’t figure out how to work this thing.” Hook frowned at the computer. “How do I ‘log something out’?”

“Just let me do it,” Henry said irritably, walking behind the counter. Hook stepped back to let him take the mouse, watching over his shoulder as he typed in the identification numbers.

“What do all those numbers mean?”

“It’s how the computer recognizes the book.”

“Oh…Right, of course.”

Henry rolled his eyes at Hook pretending to understand modern inventions, but dropped it: he didn't have time in his schedule to mock Hook, not today. Perhaps next weekend, he’d come back and make up for it, but right now he just needed his books.

“And…there you go, have a wonderful day, Henry,” he told himself, ripping the receipt off the printer. “Thank you, Henry. You’re welcome, Henry…”

“You are so strange,” Hook declared, retaking his seat and grabbing his book. “Abnormal, even.”

“False,” Henry said immediately. “ _Abnormal_ is an independent Cyberman, or a Dalek with mercy. _I’m_ quirky.”

“A what or a what?” Hook said, crinkling his brow.

“An independent Cyberman. Or a Dalek with mercy.” Henry smirked at his ignorance. “From _Doctor Who._ Obviously.”

Hook snorted, going back to his book. “Spoken like a man without a girlfriend.”

“Yeah, you’d know,” Henry said, smiling sarcastically. “How’s the single life? Molested any goats yet?”

“You really are a piece of work,” Hook scoffed, flipped through the pages of his bird book. “I swear to God, if the next one is anything like you, I might have to find new friends.”

Henry frowned. _The next one? “_ What are you talking about? What next one?” 

Hook looked up, raising his eyebrows. “Hmm?”

“What _next one_?” Henry repeated, somewhat panicked. “My mom isn’t…?”

“Relax,” Hook snorted, taking pleasure in his discomfort. “I just meant, since they’re back together and all, if history repeats itself—“

“Wait, wait, wait,” Henry interrupted, waving his hands. “ _Who’s_ back together?”

Hook raised his eyebrows, looking at him as though he were extremely dim-witted. “Uh, Emma and Neal? _Duh?_ ”

Henry blinked rapidly, his heart hammering against his chest excitedly. “They’re back together?”

“Yes, Henry, I just _said_ that,” Hook said impatiently. “Try to keep up.”

Henry stared at him with wide eyes, hardly breathing. Was this real? Was this actually happening? “Are you sure?”

“Did you know that _kiknophobia_ is the fear of swans?” Hook looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought. “I wonder if I can somehow use that…”

“Never mind that, you idiot! Tell me what you know!” Henry exclaimed, leaning across the counter to snap his fingers in Hook’s face. “Come on, out with it!”

“Henry!” Hook jerked his head from his snapping fingers, impatiently batting them away. “Stop that!”

“When did this happen?” Henry demanded. 

“I don’t know, couple days ago?” Hook slapped his hand away. “I said, _stop._ ”

“What else do you know?”

“What else is there to know?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you!”

“Well, I don’t know, either!” Hook snapped. “Now, leave me alone! I’ve got two more books on swans to go through!”

“Hook!” Henry said frustratedly. Hook huffed angrily, slamming his book shut to glare at Henry.

“I have work to do,” he growled. “The two of them are ganging up on me, and I need to be prepared. Furthermore, I don't know any more than you do. So unless you have a question about the average wing span of Australian black swans, there’s nothing I can help you with.”

With that, he snapped open his book again, ignoring Henry’s attempts to pry him with more questions. After ten minutes, he gave up and snatched his books up, walking back to his table with his mind whirling.

Was this real? Was it really real? Maybe he had dozed off, and dreamt the whole thing. Maybe he was actually sitting at his table with his head down, snoring into one of his textbooks. Any minute now, he’d wake up and see his school papers scattered around him, empty and nagging him for answers. He pulled out his chair and sat down. He folded his hands. He waited to wake up. 

Nothing happened.

Henry exhaled, smiling to himself as he cracked open one of the books and flipped to a chapter on the Greenback Party. It was absolutely mind numbing, but that hardly mattered because Henry wasn't paying attention, either way. 

Everyone had told him, _“Don’t get your hopes up!”_ and _“You’re not the first kid who’s wanted that, don’t set your heart on it!”_ But they had all been wrong: he hadn't deluded himself with high hopes, he hadn't set his heart on unrealistic ideas. He had been _right._ Everyone had told him: Dr. Whale, David, even Emma herself… _Well, well,_ he thought smugly. _Who looks stupid now? You do._

After a while, guilt pulled him back into his schoolwork and didn’t release him. Hours passed, filled with turning pages and pencil scratching. At some point, Hook said something about going to lunch, but Henry didn’t even look up; nor did he when Hook returned (three hours later).

It was dark out by the time Henry remembered to go home. Hook had fallen asleep in his chair, the book open against his chest. Henry paused on his way over to the door, frowning at him thoughtfully. After a moment of deliberation, he set his backpack down and walked behind the counter to detach his hook from the brace on his left arm. Henry whistled to himself, twirling the hook in his hand before stuffing it in his backpack, and continuing on his way.

It was a little more difficult to balance on his bike in the dark with his heavy backpack, so it took him longer than usual to get back. He chained his bike to the rack, his fingers numb with cold, and climbed the stairs to the loft. He opened the door carefully, trying to keep quiet.

Neal and Emma were sitting on the couch, watching television: Emma’s head leaning against his shoulder. Henry closed the door slowly, not wanting to disturb them. They looked so… _normal,_ so _right._ They just seemed to naturally fit together, like they were specifically designed with the other in mind. 

Henry tiptoed to the stairs, hardly daring to breathe. The screen flashed lights, blue and white, sitcom laughter softly pouring from the speakers. Henry went up a few steps, checking to make sure they didn’t hear him, before sneaking up a few more steps.

_Crrrreeeeaaaakkk—_

“Henry?”

Henry froze. _Shit!_ “Yeah?”

“Why were you gone so long?” Emma asked, standing up and coming to the foot of the stairs. 

“Homework,” he said, turning around and looking down at her. Neal joined her at the foot of the stairs, standing behind her with his hands in pockets. “I had to do a lot of catch-up work, so…yeah.”

“You get everything done?” Neal asked.

“Mostly. I still have some biology stuff to do, but it’s okay. I like biology. We’re learning about cell division and fusion and stuff, and cell processes…” He wasn’t sure why he was rambling, why he was so nervous. Neal and Emma stared up at him with raised eyebrows as his mouth ran off random facts about cell metabolism and ATP.

“…and the released energy reforms ATP, and the whole thing starts all over again.” Henry smiled down at them awkwardly, knocking his fist against his leg in a nervous gesture. Emma opened her mouth, her tongue clicking against her teeth.

“Wow,” she said. “Looks like you’re going to pass that biology test.”

“Yeah, so am I,” Neal grinned.

Henry adjusted the strap of his backpack, wincing at the weight. “Well, I think I’m just going to head upstairs. Get ready for bed. You too go back to your show.”

“Actually, I think I’m going to take off,” Neal said, turning to Emma. “So, I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Emma said, her gaze flickering to Henry as Neal grabbed his coat off the rack. “See you.”

“Bye, Dad, “ Henry said, waving from the stairs.

“Bye, Henry,” Neal said, wrapping his scarf around his neck. “Bye, Em.”

“Bye.”

They had moved out of his sight, by the door; Henry was too far up to see anything from his angle, but he could partially hear them whispering by the door: his name was mentioned a few times, but other than that, he couldn't say. If he had to guess, he’d say it was something about waiting to tell him anything. 

Henry smiled to himself, shaking his head as he climbed the rest of the stairs. _Parents._ They were so adorable at this age. 

 

* * *

 

 

Emma woke with a yelp to the sound of a fist pounding furiously on the door. 

“What _is_ that?” she heard Snow complain from the other room, while David groaned and lamented the early hour. 

“ _EMMA!_ ” Hook’s muffled voice shouted through the door. 

“Emma, it’s for you,” David called out sleepily as Hook pounded more forcefully on the door. Emma groaned, rubbing away the tiredness in her eyes as she swung her legs out of bed. She glanced at the clock on her way out the door: eight-fifteen. _On a Sunday? Why is he doing this to me?_ she thought miserably, hanging onto the railing as she padded down the stairs. 

 _“EMMA!_ ”

“I’m coming…” 

She opened to the door to a glaring Hook, stifling a yawn as she did so. “What?” she asked blearily.

“Where’s your cygnet?” Hook asked through gritted teeth. “He stole my hook. I want it back.”

“Cygnet?” she repeated, crinkling her brow. “Did you actually just refer to Henry as my cygnet?”

Hook nodded. “That’s the scientific term for a baby swan. You’re Swan, Henry is Baby Swan, thus—“

“What do you mean, he stole your hook?” Emma said over him, cutting in before he got lost in his explanation. Hook furiously held up his left arm, showing her his empty brace. She sighed, stepping back so he could come in. 

“Henry…” she called as Hook stalked past her to the foot of the stairs. “Henry, wake up.”

“No…”

Hook’s eyes widened furiously. “Get up, you little—!”

“Hey,” Emma said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, I’ll get him.”

“I want my hook back!”

“I know, hon. Just—calm down, okay?” Emma guided him to the couch, speaking soothingly. “I’ll go get it. You stay here, and try not to let that vein pop out of your head.”

Hook muttered darkly under his breath as Emma went up the stairs to Henry’s little cramped half-room. She knocked on the door, still trying to blink sleep-crumbs out of her eyes. 

“Henry, open up.”

“Mom…” he whined from inside. “It’s Sunday. I’m not supposed to wake up for another five hours.”

“Open the door, Henry.”

“But—“

“Or I’m going to let Hook break in and see your shrine to Dr. Ten.”

She could hear his bed springs creak as he got out of bed. “The _Tenth Doctor,_ Mom,” he said exasperatedly as he unlocked the door. “His name isn’t Dr. Ten.” Henry swung the door open, looking grumpy and disheveled, rubbing his eyes. “Okay, I’m up.”

“Did you steal his hook?” Emma asked, folding her arms. Henry raised his eyebrows innocently.

“Of course not.”

“Superpower,” she reminded him. 

“Which has known to be unreliable,” he said gently. “Especially when you’re exhausted.”

“Did you steal his hook or not?”

“Not.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. Henry stared back evenly, refusing to give in. Emma inhaled, nodding slowly.

“Okay,” she said. “Then you won’t mind if I take a look around.”

“Go ahead,” he said, his expression betraying nothing (and in doing so, betraying _everything). “_ I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Good,” she smiled, and stepped past him into the tiny space. 

Henry followed her as she walked slowly around the perimeter of the room, leaning in to glance at the objects scattered on the shelves, toeing the pile of textbooks in the corner. Her eyes fell on his backpack, tossed beside his bed; Henry glanced at it, then quickly back up at her. Emma raised her eyebrows at him, smiling as she bent down and pulled it up, resting it on the bed as she undid the zipper. Sure enough, the light caught the rounded silver metal of the hook, buried under the scarf Henry had stuff in there. He exhaled frustratedly as Emma pulled the hook out with a satisfied, “Huh.”

“I don’t know why,” he said in response to her dangling the hook questioningly in front of him. “Because I could.”

“Why do you have to torment him?” Emma said, dropping her hand. “Then _I_ have to deal with it.”

Henry thought for a moment, frowning down at the floor. “How about…he described the details of your Neverland adventures in front of me last Thursday, and I wanted to get him back?”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Okay, but just so you know, you only get to use that as an excuse once. Are you sure you want to waste it on this?”

“Damn,” Henry swore under his breath. “All right, never mind. I’ll accept the punishment.”

Emma smiled at him and held out the hook. “Go downstairs, give it back to him, apologize, and ask what you can do to make up for it.”

“Aw, Mom,” Henry groaned, his head falling back. “Come on, are you serious?”

“Yep.”

“ _Mom…_ ” he whined.

“ _Henry…”_ she imitated, holding out the hook.

With a reluctant sigh, he took it, weighing it in his hand as he looked down at it. “Okay,” he said. “Give me a minute, I just need to…emotionally detach myself from this.”

Emma rolled her eyes as Henry muttered to himself and shook his hands out, as if preparing himself for a great feat. “Come on, kid, let’s go,” she said, snapping her fingers.

Henry lifted his head, taking a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready,” he said in a mechanical voice. 

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Henry obediently followed her down the stairs and over to the couch, where Hook was waiting with tightly folded arms. His eyes widened furiously, catching sight of Henry, and he shot up. For a moment, the two of them looked at each other in a silent battle of wills. At last, Henry blew out a breath, and held out the hook.

“Here.”

Hook glared at him, and held out his hand for the hook. Henry looked at him sourly and dropped the hook in his hand. Hook didn't take his eyes off him, as he slowly clicked the hook back into place, twisting it with deliberation. 

“I’m to apologize, and ask how I can make it up to you,” Henry said flatly. “So—sorry, and what do you want?”

Hook frowned, shifting his eyes to Emma suspiciously. She nodded encouragingly, waving him on. Hook shifted his gaze back to Henry and lifted his chin, considering. 

“I need to think,” he said at last. “I don’t want to waste this.”

“You’re not enslaving my son, just so you know,” Emma reminded him. “When I said ‘make up for it’, I meant a favor, not a contract to sell his soul to you. Don’t let the power go to your head.”

“Yeah, it’s big enough as it is,” Henry put in. 

Emma placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. “Probably not the best time to antagonize him.”

“Listen to your mother,” Hook said, smiling darkly. 

Henry opened his mouth to retort, but stopped, hearing something. “Mom, I think your phone’s buzzing.”

Emma looked around for her phone, hearing the soft buzz grow louder as she bent down to the couch. “I hear it,” she said, fishing around between the cushions. It must have dropped there last night, when she and Neal were watching television. “Ah!”

She slowly rose, sliding her thumb across the screen to read the text message, smiling to herself when she saw it was from Neal: _You want to get coffee later?_

 _“_ Who was it?” Henry asked, nodding at the phone.

“Neal,” she said absently, typing back a “yes”.

“Oh?” Henry perked up. “Really?”

“Yep,” she said, closing her phone. “So—you guys want some breakfast, or something? Now that we’re all up at this ungodly hour, thank you,” she added to Hook. 

“Wait, what time is it?” he asked, suddenly anxious.

“Eight-thirty, I think—“

“ _Shit!_ ”

“Wait, where are you going?” Emma said as he suddenly raced to the door. “Hook?”

“Diner! See you later!” he yelled over his shoulder, disappearing out the door. Emma raised her eyebrows.

“Well, that was abrupt,” she said, heading to the cupboard to take out two bowls and spoons. Henry made a noise of agreement, pulling out a stool. Emma opened another cupboard, looking up at the cereal boxes.

“I feel like Frosted Flakes,” she decided.

“Sounds good.”

Emma plucked the box off the shelf and pulled two spoons out of the drawer.

“So…” Henry leaned his elbows on the counter, watching her pour cereal into two bowls. “How’s life treating you?”

She glanced up at him, setting the Frosted Flakes down: he was looking at her with raised eyebrows, fighting a smile. 

“Fine…” she said slowly. “And you?”

“Fantastic,” he said without a trace of irony.  Emma raised an eyebrow. Since when was Henry “fantastic”? He had never been “fantastic”. The most she’d ever gotten out of him was “okay, I guess”. And after the incident with Hook, she’d have expected him to be somewhere between “shitty” and “how do you _think_ I am?” But no… he was _fantastic._

“Good,” she said, pouring the milk in and pushing his bowl over. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem…” Emma frowned at him, tilting her head. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m feeling great,” he smiled, spooning through his cereal. Emma mirrored him, still eyeing him suspiciously.

“So,” she said after a while. “What do you have planned for today?”

“More homework, I think,”  he said around a mouthful of cereal. “You?”

“I was going to do some online Christmas shopping at work,” she shrugged. 

“Did you…” Henry waved his spoon, carefully choosing his next words. “Are you getting Dad anything?”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Yeah…?”

“Interesting,” Henry said, a small smile flitting across his face. “So, uh, why did he text you? What’s up?”

“Nothing,” she shrugged. “We’re going to grab some coffee later, that’s all.”

“Oh, I see…”

Emma looked up at him: he was still smiling to himself, trailing his spoon through his cereal. _He knows,_ she thought, feeling her stomach clench. How did he _know?_ She and Neal had decided to keep…well, _them_ a secret for a while, just to let the dust settle. It wasn't even like there was that much to tell, at this point: it was still delicate, still a little uncertain. 

She decided to play along: regardless of whether Henry knew, if Henry knew that _she_ knew that he knew, she wasn’t going to say anything, and they weren’t going to talk about it. Not yet.

“So, have you and Regina worked out any plans for your magic lessons?” she asked, stirring her spoon. “I saw your books. Have you started?”

“Not yet. She hasn't been feeling well lately,” Henry said, taking another bite. He pointed his spoon at her. “How come you never learned?”

Emma shrugged, making a face. “Not really the type. I’m better with my gun.”

“Hey, you don’t think…” Henry frowned at his cereal, twirling the spoon listlessly. “You don’t think me learning magic…you know, everything that happened with Rumplestiltskin…”

“You’re worried about Neal’s reaction,” Emma said, reading between the lines. 

“He says, he’s fine with it, but I don’t know if he’s saying that because he’s _actually_ fine with it, or if he just doesn't want to upset me or whatever.” Henry shook his head. “I don’t know. I want to learn, but I don’t want to—“

“Henry,” Emma said gently, putting her hand on his. “It wasn’t the magic that drove them apart. You learning magic isn't going to ruin anything between you two.”

Henry didn’t look convinced, still poking at his cereal. Emma sighed, coming over to sit beside him. 

“It wasn't magic,” she repeated. “Rumple let it go to his head, he let it become more important than anything else. You’re not going to do that.” She nudged him. “Regina’s got magic, they’re fine. I’ve got magic, we’re fine. You two will be just as fine.”

Henry nodded, looking a little more relaxed. “Okay,” he said, picking up his spoon again. “Thanks.”

Emma shrugged, waving him off. “I’m very wise, Henry, it’s really not a big deal.” She reached across the counter, pulling her bowl toward her. “And Frosted Flakes give my brain a nice sugar rush.”

“They _are_ inspiring,” Henry agreed.

“And that, Henry, is why sugary cereal is one of the five main food groups.”

“The other four being grilled cheese—“

“Pancakes—“

“French fries—“

“And hot chocolate,” she said at the same time he said, “And coffee.” They looked at each other in surprise.

“Okay, so that was cute for a minute there, but now we have to hash this out,” Emma frowned, sitting up in her seat. “What do you mean, _coffee?_ I thought hot chocolate was our thing.”

“But I like coffee better.”

“So do I. But hot chocolate is our thing.”

Henry groaned, putting his hand over his eyes. “Mom, do we seriously have to argue about this now? This early? Over hot chocolate and coffee?”

“We must, Henry,” Emma said solemnly. “We absolutely must.”

 


	34. Chapter 34

 

“Thanks, Ash,” Tink said as Ashley set down a plate of pancakes in front of her. 

“No problem,” she said cheerfully. “Hey, did I tell you the funny thing Alex did the other—?”

“I’m sure it was hilarious,” Tink interrupted, picking up her fork. Ashley raised her eyebrows, and went off to go serve coffee at the counter. 

The bell rang, and a gust of icy wind ruffled her hair as Hook burst into the diner, wild-eyed. He caught her eye, and made a beeline for her. Tink made a noise of protest as the table shook from him slamming into it. 

“You’re disrupting the syrup,” she complained. “Come on, man.”

“Did you do it?” he asked, ignoring her whining. “Did you talk to Ruby?”

“No, not yet,” she said, grimacing as she poked at her food. “Aw, look, you got the butter and the syrup all mixed up.”

“Forget that!” he said impatiently. “Why haven’t you talked to Ruby yet?”

“Didn’t get a chance,” she said, somewhat defensively. “She’s not back to work yet, so I don’t always know where she is. _Excuse_ me.” She went back to stabbing her pancakes, glancing up at him. “What about you? Did you talk to Neal?”

“I certainly did,” he frowned, leaning back with folded arms. “And I’m not saying another word about it until you talk to Ruby. _Which_ you said you were going to have done by now. ” He snapped his fingers. “So, go on, get on with it.”

“All right, all right, keep your shirt on,” she said, then added with a wink, _“_ Or don’t.”

“Oh, my _God_.” Hook made a face. “Is that what I sound like to people?”

“Yep,” she said, tossing down her fork and pushing the plate away. “I can’t eat these. You want ‘em?”

“Ugh,” Hook grimaced, turning his head. “I _hate_ pancakes.”

Tink stared at him in disbelief. “You hate pancakes? What’s the matter with you?”

“I just don’t like them, okay?” Hook said frustratedly. “Why does everyone fixate on that?”

“You’re a crazy person,” Tink scoffed, taking her phone out to text Ruby: _It’s time for coffee. Come drink coffee with me._ She set her phone on the table, waiting for Ruby to text back. Hook stared at the phone, practically drilling a hole through the table with the force of his gaze, as if daring it to defy him.

It buzzed, making them both jump.

“Get it, get it, get it!” Hook said frantically, pushing it into her hands.

“All right, relax!” she snapped, jerking away from him. “Jesus Christ! What are you, a thirteen-year-old girl? Calm _down!_ ”

“I’m sorry!” he said in a hushed tone, looking anxiously at the phone. “Read it, read it!”

Tink rolled her eyes, sliding her thumb across the screen. She squinted at the text: _That was random, but okay. Where are you?_

 _Diner,_ she typed back. _Waiting for your skinny ass to get over here. Hurry up._

“Okay,” she said to Hook, opening up Candy Crush. “Out. Ruby’s coming, and I can’t have you moping around.”

“I do not _mope!_ ” were his parting words before he indignantly swept away. Tink kicked her feet up on his abandoned chair, starting on.— _Oh, goddamn it—_ a _chocolate bar_ level. _With_ bears.

“Goddamn chocolate bars,” she muttered, sliding her finger across the screen. “Goddamn bears!”

At some point, Ashley came around again, offering to refill her coffee; Tink absently ordered one for Ruby, not taking her eyes off the exploding candies. She was contemplating a strategy for her last four moves when someone jerked the chair out from under her feet, startling her. Ruby sat down across from her, smiling.

“Hey,” she said, shrugging off her coat. 

“Hey.”

“Ooh, is this for me?” 

Tink groaned as she wasted her last move, and the purple squirrel-thing popped up. She glanced up, dejectedly tossing her phone down. “Goddamn bears.”

“Mmm—“ Ruby put down her cup, shaking her head. “Oh, my God, I hate the bears.”

“They suck.”

“Oh, and _chocolate bars.”_

“Goddamn chocolate bars!”

“Yeah.”

The conversation seemed to fade off there, leaving them to awkwardly smile at each other and sip their coffee. It was a little weird: normally when she hung out with Ruby, it was with a crowd. They didn't do the one-on-one thing very much: She and Ruby weren't exactly close. They might hang out at a party together, or grab a bite every so often, but overall, they had a _very_ shallow friendship. 

“So.” Tink drummed her hands on the table. “How are you? Good? You look good.”

Ruby raised her eyebrows over her mug, swallowing. “Uh… thanks.”

“Sure, sure,” Tink said, bobbing her head.  “Anyways…” She twisted her mouth to the side, looking around the diner. Ruby followed her gaze, glancing at her quizzically.

“You okay, Tink?”

“Ye-e-eah…” she said slowly. “Hey, can I ask you something awkward?”

Ruby narrowed her eyes. “What _kind_ of awkward?”

“Nothing bad,” Tink shrugged. “I’m just not sure if we’re close enough for me to ask you this without being awkward.”

“Well…” Ruby blew out a breath, tapping her fingers on the table. “All right, go ahead.”

“Uh…”

Now that she was actually faced with asking Ruby about her and Hook, Tink was very much aware how awkward it was. And being aware of “awkward” wasn’t usually a problem for her.

Because it was one thing to catcall guys: they were simple creatures, and she was usually half-drunk around them, anyway. If she said something stupid, she knew it would blow over eventually…(hopefully). But girls were intimidating: they were judge-y and snarky and manipulative and sneaky. If you messed up around them, they would remember it forever and record it for future civilizations, passing down the legend of your dumbassery through the generations. 

 _But Neal, though_ , a small voice in her head whined. Hook promised to talk to him for her: she wasn't exactly sure what that entailed, but she knew that if there was anything Hook was good at, it was persuasion. Perhaps he could get Neal to agree to—

“Tink?” Ruby snapped her fingers in front of her face. “Hello?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Tink said, blinking rapidly. “Got distracted.”

Ruby nodded slowly. “So…you want to ask me something awkward or what?”

“Yeah, sure.” Tink shifted in her seat, trying to think of a way to phrase it that didn't sound completely weird. “Uh…how, uh…how are things between you and Hook going?”

Ruby frowned. “What are you talking about? There’s no _things_ between me and Hook going.” She paused, trailing her finger around the rim of her cup. “Why, did he say something?”

 _Oh, Jesus Christ._ “No, not really. I just noticed you two at the diner the other day,” Tink said, pausing to take a sip of her coffee. She swallowed, exhaling loudly, and set it back down. “You looked _pret-_ ty friendly.”

“What, that?” Ruby scoffed.“Please, that was nothing. I was just being nice.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tink smirked. “ _Very_ nice.”

“What? I _was,_ ” she insisted, laughing unconvincingly. “I’m serious.”

“If you say so.” 

Tink took another sip of coffee, and folded her napkin over to wipe her mouth. She hummed under her breath, gazing out the window as if she’d lost interest in the matter. Ruby’s brow twitched questioningly, but Tink ignored her, knowing that Ruby and her big, self-involved mouth (God love ‘em) would eventually push the conversation forward.

“So… _did_ he say anything about me?”

 _And there it is._ Tink turned to her with raised eyebrows. “Did who say anything about you?”

“You _know_ who.”

“Archie?”

Ruby gave her a pained look. “Hook.”

 _“Oh…_ Well, maybe.”

“Maybe?” Ruby repeated, crinkling her brow. “What do you mean, maybe? It’s a _yes_ or a _no_.”

“He asked about you,” Tink shrugged. Ruby’s eyebrows shot up,  her eyes widening.

“He did?”

“Ruby,” Tink said impatiently. “Don’t pull the Taylor-Swift-getting-an-award-routine. The entire town knows he’s crazy about you.“ She paused, grimacing. “Mostly, ’cause he’s told us all fifteen times.”

Ruby twitched a smile, picking up her cup. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Tink deadpanned, considerably less charmed. “So would you please just take him back, already?”

“ _Tink_!” Ruby sputtered, choking on her coffee. “You can’t just spring that on me!”

“Sorry,” she said flatly. “In ten seconds, I’m going to ask you again, so it’s not being sprung on you. Ready? Ten…nine…eight…some other numbers, one! You going to take him back or what?”

“You’re annoying me,” Ruby told her, mopping up the coffee she’d spilled.

“I notice you’re not saying _no,”_ Tink said in an annoying sing-song voice, and cupped a hand to her ear mockingly. “Do I hear _wedding bells?_ ”

Ruby flicked her eyes up, tossing aside the napkin. “Are you trying to get me to change my mind?”

“Change your…?” Tink’s smile faded. “Wait…does that mean you _are_ taking him back?”

“I was thinking about it, until you started making everything weird and awkward.” Ruby rolled her eyes. “As usual.”

“Seriously?” Tink said, ignoring the quip. “You’re taking him back? For reals?”

“I don’t know, stop asking me,” Ruby complained. “God, I thought we were going to have a cup of coffee, not reenact the Spanish Inquisition.”

“Ruby, answer the damn question,” Tink said impatiently, getting caught up in the gossip appeal of it all. Oh, man, if she were the first one in town to catch hold of this—! 

Well, probably nothing would happen.

But if she were the one to resurrect the Hook-and-Ruby- pool—!

Well, that would earn her _something,_ wouldn't it?

“Ruby?” she prodded.

“I…” Ruby sighed, shredding a napkin. “I don’t know. I thought he was just another one of those guys, but he’s…he’s actually kind of sweet.”

“Really?” Tink said, wrinkling her nose. “Hook? _Sweet?_ ”

“But what am I saying? I mean, he’s such a child,” she said, talking more to herself than Tink. “He either takes things too seriously, or not seriously at all.”

Tink raised her eyebrows. “Okay, so…you’re not taking him back, then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Okay…” Tink said, feeling thoroughly confused. “So, you _are_ taking him back?”

“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. Am I crazy for even considering it?” she asked anxiously, forgetting the napkin. 

Tink blinked rapidly, startled by the sudden question. “Erm…no. No, Hook is…totally sweet and everything.” 

“He is, isn't he?” Ruby said, smiling to herself. “He wasn’t always, but the more I get to know him, the more I see this other side of him.”

“Huh,” Tink said, sinking lower into her seat. This was uncomfortable. Holy God in heaven, this was uncomfortable. She didn't want to hear about this: the Hook she knew was the raunchy, snarky, sarcastic little pirate-bastard she’d met in Neverland. He was not _cuddly;_ he was not _shy;_ and he was certainly not _sweet._

“I was just _so_ angry with him, you know?” Ruby sighed, propping her chin up with one hand. “He got so jealous, and I was just like, ‘Yeah, hello, welcome to _my_ life’. But then at Thanksgiving, he apologized and he was just _so_ sincere, you know? Like, he really meant it. And Snow and I talked…”

Tink slid her phone off the table and opened Candy Crush again while Ruby started an in-depth analysis of everything she and Snow discussed. Tink nodded periodically as she spoke, every so often giving a thoughtful, _“Hmm?_ ”

“What do _you_ think?” Ruby asked, looking at her intently. 

“Honestly?” Tink glanced up from her phone. “I think there’s a reason why every time you guys broke up, you got back together an hour later.”

Ruby watched her go back to her game. “You do?” she asked in a softer voice. 

“Yes, and that’s all I’m saying about it. If you two want to talk about all the reasons you should or shouldn't be together, you should just grow the fuck up and talk to each other. Stop acting like kids, and be _adults.”_

She cursed as the purple squirrel popped up again. “Goddamn bears!”

 


	35. Chapter 35

“Oh, my God, this is the best chair ever,” Emma said, closing her eyes as she sank into Rumple’s armchair.

“Yep,” Neal agreed absently as he skimmed through a menu, phone in hand. “Okay, what toppings do you want?”

“Sausage, peppers, mushrooms, pepperoni, shrimp, and onions,” she said decisively. “Ooh, and pineapple.”

Neal  stared at her. “That is _disgusting._ ”

“We’ll only put in _my_ half,” she shrugged. 

“You’re damn right, we’ll only put it on your half.” Neal put the phone to his ear, scoffing. “Weirdo.”

Emma rolled her eyes, sighing dramatically. “Don’t try to tame my spirit, Neal.”

They were taking advantage of Neal’s house-sitting gig to enjoy the comforts of Rumple and Belle’s mansion: naturally, pizza and a rented movie were required, because how could one properly enjoy a mansion without _pizza_ and a _movie?_ For Christ’s sake.

Emma hummed something under her breath while Neal ordered the pizza, looking around the room interestedly.

“ _And that was…”_ There was a riffling sound as the kid flipped through his notes. _“Sausage, peppers, mushrooms, pepperoni, shrimp,_ and _onions?_ ”

“And pineapple,” Neal said, grimacing. 

There was a pause. “ _Dude, your girlfriend’s weird._ ”

Neal rubbed his eyes, and sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

He hung up, tossing his phone on the table and leaning back in his seat. Emma turned her head toward him, smiling appreciatively.

“This is a nice place your dad has here,” she said, gesturing with one hand. “I mean, _nice_ nice.”

Neal raised his eyebrows, nodding. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” he said, looking around. “A bit much, in my opinion, but yeah, it’s nice.” He tapped his fingers against the armrest, a little hesitant of his next words. “Actually, I was kind of thinking about finding my own place.”

Emma’s eyebrows shot up. “You were?”

“Yeah, why not?” he shrugged. “I mean, I can’t live at Granny’s for the rest of my life.” 

Emma nodded slowly, carefully keeping her voice neutral. “Where are you going to look?”

“Well—“ Neal scratched the back of his head. “You know, my dad’s the landlord of that apartment complex. Figured he could give me a discount, which I could use since ‘junior deputy’ doesn't pay that great.”

“That apartment complex…” Emma said, not looking at him as she traced her finger along the armrest. “Where _I_ live.”

Neal raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure what she was getting at. “Ye-e-e-eah….?”

She opened her mouth answer, then apparently thought better of it. “Never mind.”

“Okay…” he said slowly, giving her a quizzical look. Emma kept her eyes down, tapping out a rhythm he didn’t recognize. 

After another few minutes, he couldn't take the silence anymore. “I’m going to set the movie up,” he said, getting up from his seat and reaching for the DVD case. Emma glanced up as he popped the cover open, pulling out the disc.

“So, what did we get for tonight?” she asked, rising in her seat to look at the cover. She wrinkled her nose. “Eww, _Moulin Rouge?_ What the hell, Neal?”

“You always talk during movies,” he explained with a shrug. “So instead of getting a movie we’d want to see, and missing every word of it, I found a movie we _wouldn't_ want to see, so it wouldn't suck when we realized we had no idea what happened.”

“Oh,” Emma said, raising her eyebrows and nodding. “Good thought.”

Neal made a noise of agreement, bending over the  DVDV machine..As he was wrestling with wires and cables, the doorbell rang. “That’ll be the pizza,” he said over his shoulder. “You want to grab that.”

“No,” she droned, getting up all the same. Neal untangled the red wire from the yellow, and plugged them into their proper outlets while Emma dealt with the pizza kid. 

“Okay,” Neal said finally, resting his hands on his knees. “It’s all set. All we need is to press ‘play’ when we’re ready.”

“Still can’t believe you got  _Moulin Rouge,”_ Emma said, bringing the pizza over. “Of all the movies I’d’ve seen you picking up…”

“Would you have preferred a Rachel McAdams movie?” he grinned, sitting across from her as she opened up the box. “ _The Vow_? _The Notebook_? _The Time-Traveler’s Wife?_ ”

“I’m sensing some Rachel-McAdams-hate,” she remarked, picking up a slice from her ridiculously over-topped pizza. 

“Rachel-McAdams- _movie-_ hate,” Neal corrected. “Rachel hasn't done anything to me.”

He lifted his slice to his mouth, and stopped halfway, staring at Emma: she was busy picking off all the toppings, setting them off in little piles along the edge of her plate. She looked up, and frowned at him, pulling her pizza to her protectively.

“What?”

“What are you _doing?_ ” he asked. “You make me order all these ridiculous toppings, just so you can pick them all off?”

“Well, I wanted the _essence_ of them, you know?” she said earnestly. “Like, I wanted the flavor, but I didn't want the actual toppings.”

Neal raised his eyes to the ceiling. “You are _so_ weird.”

“Yeah, I am,” she agreed cheerfully.

“What am I supposed to do with all those toppings now?” he said, gesturing at them. “Make a casserole?”

“It would be a very tiny casserole,” Emma shrugged, dusting pepperoni crumbs off her pizza. “But yes. That would be adorable.”

“What’s adorable about a casserole?”

“It’s not the casserole, it’s the fact that it’s _tiny._ ”

“Tininess has no merits of cuteness.”

“Oh, my God, Neal. Yes, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it actually does.”

The debate lasted through the rest of the pizza, ending when they both agreed that tininess was a _factor_ in cuteness, but not the deciding one. On that relevant note, they agreed it was movie-time.

“Okay, you ready to be mock the shit out of Ewan McGregor?” Neal said, bending down for the remote. 

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, getting up from her chair to toss her napkin in the box. “Come on, let’s sit on the couch.”

“Couch is good,” Neal agreed, settling on the couch beside her as the trailers started up. Emma brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she leaned into him. Neal twitched a smile, bringing his arm around her shoulders. It was a nice, comfortable feeling, sitting with her like that. 

They managed to get through three minutes of the movie before Emma started her commentary. 

“Oh, my God, I hate him,” she groaned as Ewan McGregor’s character sobbed over his typewriter. “Do you think he dies in this movie?”

“One can only hope,” Neal said, frowning. 

“Where are they supposed to be, even? I can’t tell.”

“At the Moulin Rouge, he just said it.”

“Yeah, but _where_ is the Moulin Rouge? I’m feeling France, is it France?”

“I don’t know.”

They lapsed into silence. After a few disorienting loud, flamboyant numbers, the dull plot began to rear its ugly head. They suffered through half an hour of the director’s attempts to be edgy and creative and  poignant and tragic, even though it really only managed pointless. After a while, Neal felt his eyes flickering open and closed. He was starting to drift off to sleep, when Emma’s voice woke up.

“Can I ask you something?”

Neal blinked rapidly, forcing himself to wake up. “Yeah, sure,” he said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Go for it.” 

Emma  twirled her necklace around her finger. “You ever think about what would have happened if…you know, if you hadn’t listened to August?” she asked. Neal inhaled slowly, lowering his hand as he considered. 

“Well,” he said after a minute. “I s’pose we’d’ve headed for Canada, like we talked about…found what jobs we could…probably not very good ones, but whatever.”

“Then we’d have gone after some crappy apartment that we could barely afford,” Emma said, joining in. “With roaches.”

“With roaches,” Neal agreed.

“Maybe a bitchy landlady.”

“Nuh- _uh_ ,” he objected. “Canadians are nice.”

Emma snorted. “That’s a stereotype.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “One of the more pleasant stereotypes to get branded with, though, you have to admit.”

“I admit,” she smiled. “Okay, so what would have happened after our Canadian landlady?”

“Let’s see…” Neal dropped his head back against the couch, looking up at the ceiling. “Henry would have come along at some point. That could have gone one of two ways: one being we keep him, and the other…we don’t.”

Emma was silent for a moment. “Do you think we would have kept him?” she asked softly.

Neal turned his head against the couch to look at her. “I like to think we would have,” he said. “But if I’m being realistic…?”

“We wouldn't have been able to  afford it.” There was an edge to her voice: an edge laden with guilt and sadness. She stared at the screen dully, barely seeing it. 

“Hey, come on, Em.” Neal nudged her, making her look up. “Don’t do that to yourself. Best chance, remember?”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed. “I just can’t help but think that no matter what, in every parallel universe, I end up giving him away, and I just—“

“Feel guilty about it, but Emma, it was an impossible situation. In _any_ universe.” He took her hand, squeezing it for comfort. “Giving him up was the better choice. You wouldn't have been able to take care of him on your own, _we_ wouldn't have been able to together… It was the right thing to do, and I’m just glad you had the strength to do it.”

“But then  he would have had to grow up in Canada alone,” Emma mused, looking up at him. “And he would have had a Canadian accent. And eaten maple syrup with the other Canadian-accented children. And hunted mooses.”

Neal frowned slightly. “It’s not _mooses._ It’s just _moose._ ”

“ _No,_ ” Emma said, raising her eyebrows. “You can look at a moose, and you can look at moose…Hey, you know what, you’re right,” she frowned. “ _Mooses_ doesn't sound right.”

“And I don’t think you’re allowed to hunt moose, either,” Neal said. “Leave the moose alone. That’s just good, general life advice.”

“That’s true.”

They turned back to the screen, watching Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman overact and sing their hearts out in yet another outlandishly over-the-top number. 

“You know,” Emma said thoughtfully. “I don’t like _how_ everything happened…but I like how it turned out.”

Neal looked at her in surprise. “Yeah?”

She shrugged, looking up at him. “Yeah. I mean…we got a good thing going here in this little town, you know? I’ve got my parents, you’ve got your dad and Regina now, Henry’s got an entire kingdom looking after him…it’s nice.”

“Nicer than living in a car and breaking into motels, anyways.”

“Well, that had its moments, too,” she said with a smile. 

 


	36. Chapter 36

 

_“And then, we’re just going to stir in these onions here…”_

David glanced up, still scribbling furiously as Ina Garten demonstrated how to properly braise a roast. “Onions,” he muttered, dropping his eyes back down to the page. _That’s_ what he’d been forgetting, onions! Oh, he should’ve known. 

“ _And now, we’re going to take this beautiful roast—_ “

His phone rang, drowning out the rest of Ina’s sentence. David cursed, turning the volume down, and put his phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Oh, David, thank God!” Robin breathed into the phone. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of everyone, no one’s picking up! I think they’re all ignoring me on purpose,” he added worriedly.

“What do you want, Robin?” David asked, pressing the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could keep writing down Ina’s instructions.

“I need you to pick up my order from Granny’s and drop it off for Regina. She’s _really_ sick today, so I said I’d get her some soup, but then Roland’s teacher called because he got another toy soldier stuck in his nose, so I had to take him to the hospital—“ Robin paused to catch his breath—“anyways, now I’m waiting for Dr. Whale, but he’s got three other kids from the preschool with things caught in their noses  because apparently, there was some kind of nose-jamming-war going on, and so Regina’s sick and lacking soup, so could you _please_ please please drop her soup off, David?”

David frowned, setting down his pen. “Robin, if she’s sick, I don’t think getting her something from _Granny’s_ is going to help. She’ll probably get sicker, if anything.”

Robin sighed exhaustedly, sounding close to tears. “I don’t know what else to do,” he wailed. “I’m stuck here with Roland—“

“Just calm down,” David said over him, getting up from the couch. “I’ll take care of it, okay? I’ll go over there and make her some soup so she doesn't have to eat that rancid dishwater Granny’s serves.”

“You will?” Robin said in relief. “Oh, my God, David, you’re a _saint._ ”

“Don’t worry about it,” David shrugged, going to the kitchen to start gathering his ingredients. “I’ll see you later.”

He hung up, sliding his phone into his pocket,  and continued collecting ingredients: spices, onions, potatoes, carrots, chicken stock, spinach, chicken, and his secret ingredient—bacon bits. 

“Snow?” he called up the stairs, placing everything in a bag to carry out to the car. “ _Snow!”_

“Yeah?” she called down.

“Listen, I’m going over to Regina’s, okay? She’s sick, so I’m going to bring her some soup!”

“Not from Granny’s, David,” she said warningly. “She’ll vomit up a lung if you bring her diner soup.”

 

* * *

 

David turned on the car radio, smiling as the Christmas station came on and started playing “Jingle Bell Rock”. God, he loved Christmas.

David and Christmas was like Emma and grilled cheese: he just couldn't get enough of it. The light-hearted music, the nostalgic movies, that warm, cozy feeling of _home_ that just wrapped itself around the entire season… Christmas was like an enormous hug, a perpetual smile, just pure love and happiness. Harmony, peace, quiet, and just _love._ Something about the soft snow and warm street lights, the iced sugar cookies and gingerbread houses, the homey decorations and the cheerful music…it just made him realize how much he really loved everyone. Snow, Emma, and Henry—they were the the epicenter of his heart. It was pure instinct to love them, to want to do anything for them, to give them his undying devotion and whatever else he could. When he was growing up, the only family he’d had was his mother: she was gone now, and though there would always be an emptiness in him because of that, he had his wife, daughter, and grandson to love, and them to love him back. 

But he also had Neal and Hook. It was bizarre how two, three years ago, he hadn't even known them. And for those first few weeks he _did_ know them, he had regarded them with pure suspicion and distrust, tensed against any sudden movements. And now, they were like the younger brothers he’d never had: frustrating, annoying, exhaustingly immature…Yep. Younger brothers.

And then there was Regina. It still amazed him how it only took a few years of friendship to undo the decades of hatred. But Regina was a good person, a good mother, and a good friend. 

And that was why he was going over there with all his culinary superpowers in tow. She was sick, and she needed soup. And if there was anything David could do, it was making comfort food. It combined all the kitchen skills he’d picked up, since the sword-fighting game in Storybrooke had died down, with all the love in his extra-big heart.

He pulled into Regina’s driveway, still humming “Jingle Bell Rock” as he picked up his ingredient bag, got out of the car, and walked up the driveway.

 _“…in the frosty air,_ ” he sang, ringing the doorbell. “ _What a bright time, it’s the right time—_ Regina!” he beamed as she opened the door, looking very ill indeed. 

“David?” She crinkled her brow. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Robin told me you needed soup, so _I—_ “ he held up the bag, giving it a little shake—“am making you soup.”

“Soup?” Regina repeated, stepping back to let him in. “Why?”

“You’re sick,” David scoffed, handing her the bag so he could shrug off his coat. “You need chicken soup and cuddles—though, I think I’ll let Robin provide the cuddles.”

“Okay,” Regina said, still looking a little confused as she handed the bag back. “Just don’t make a mess in my kitchen.”

“Of course not,” he said, affronted that she would suggest he would even consider making a mess in that beautiful, stainless-steel kitchen. 

Regina settled into a kitchen chair with a sigh as David started setting up at the stove, laying out his ingredients and utensils in an organized formation. “Where’s Robin?” she asked wearily, touching a hand to her aching forehead. 

“At the hospital,” David said, filling up a pot to start boiling the chicken. “Roland’s got a thing in his nose.”

 _“Again?_ ”

 _“_ Mmm-hmm,” he nodded, turning the stove up. 

“Oh, my God” she groaned. “I swear to God, that kid has shoved more things in his nose…”

David made a noise of agreement, starting to chop his vegetables. He started with the potatoes, so they could boil in the water with the chicken and thicken it up. Then the onions, so he could _really_ develop the flavor, give it a nice bite. Then the carrots, then the spinach, and round it all off with a nice dash of spices and a splash of chicken stock. A good simmer, and _voile!_ Chicken soup a’la David.

“So, how are you doing?” Regina asked after a while, an odd note of sympathy in her voice. David glanced over his shoulder, raising a quizzical eyebrow. 

“Fine,” he said simply. “Why?”

Regina raised her eyebrows. “Your daughter’s _dating,_ ” she said in a mocking hushed tone. “Shouldn’t you have your Daddy-Claws out, and remind Neal that you have a hardened criminal’s prison record?”

David turned around, refocusing his attention on his potatoes. “I like Neal,” he shrugged. “He’s a good guy.”

Although, if he were going to be totally honest, it still kind of weirded him out that one of his best friends was dating his _daughter._ He knew all—well, most—of the history between Neal and Emma, and that they had actually found a way to start moving past it; and he knew that they really cared about each other, even though they didn't say it much; and he knew that Emma was _happy._ And that made it all worth it.

But that didn't change the fact that she was his baby girl. He never got the chance to see her walk, to teach her to ride a horse, to braid her hair, to see her dance at her first ball…He had built up so many daddy’s-girl- reserves for her, and never got a chance to use them; now, he was making up for that. 

However good a guy Neal was, however happy Emma seemed, that didn't mean David was going to stop eyeing them suspiciously when they sat (too) closely on the couch. Nor was he going to stop clearing his throat when he walked in the room, so he wouldn't have to burn out his eyes to get rid of any images he didn't need. Nor was he going to stop asking Emma what time she’d be home, just in case she had any ideas about staying out inappropriately later (which, in his opinion, was anything later than Henry’s bedtime). Snow told him he was being ridiculous, but David turned a deaf ear to it all. It was his right as a father to be overbearing and annoying, and damn it, he was going to take advantage of that!

“I don’t mind Neal,” he said, working on his onions now. “I’m fine with it. I just want Emma to be happy, and —“ he shrugged—“she is, with him.” He glanced over his shoulder, jutting his chin at her. “What about you? How’ve you been?”

“Well, let’s see,” Regina grimaced. “I have a pounding headache. I feel like I’m going to throw up at any second. My back hurts. My feet hurt. I’m completely exhausted. Basically, I’m dying. Say something nice at my funeral, huh?”

 _Uh-oh._ This all sounded familiar. _Very_ familiar. David frowned, scraping the onions off the cutting board into the pot. “How long you been feeling like this?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve been feeling under the weather for a while, you know how I get in winter.” Regina groaned, holding her head in her hands. “God, I hate this time of year.”

David didn't even bother objecting in the name of Christmas, far more concerned about his growing suspicions.”Regina,” he said, leaning against the counter with folded arms. “I think you should go to Dr. Whale.”

Regina lifted her head, looking at him incredulously. “Whale?” she repeated. “David, I’m not _literally_ dying. You know that, right?”

“I don’t think you’re dying,” David said bluntly. “I think you’re pregnant.”

Regina stared at him, her hands dropping away from her face. “Are you _stupid?_ I’m not pregnant! It’s just the flu or something!”

“Last time Snow had the flu like that, it lasted nine months and we got a kid out of it,” David said. “Go to Dr. Whale, get a blood test or something.”

“This is ridiculous,” Regina declared, standing up. “I’m not going to listen to this, it’s just pure _stupidity.”_

“Regina, it’s not a _disease,_ ” David said exasperatedly, following her out of the room. 

“It’s impossible!” she insisted, pacing the hallway with her hands braced on her hips. David sighed, leaning against the doorway as he watched her go back and forth, shaking her head and repeating to herself,“Impossible, just impossible!”

“Impossible? Really?” he asked dryly, raising an eyebrow. “You _do_ know how babies are made, right?”

“Oh, my God, David, I am _so_ not talking about this with you!” she flared, stopping in her tracks. 

“Then don’t! Talk to Whale! Talk to _Robin.”_

“No!” Regina said instantly, rounding on him with fierce eyes. “I don’t want to tell him…you know, whatever, and then find out it’s not true.” She started walking toward him, pointing a threatening finger. “And I don’t want you breathing a _word_ of this to him,understand? Not a single _word._ ”

David flinched irritably away from her finger. “Yes, yes! I understand, I won’t say anything!”

Regina glared at him for another minute, then slowly lowered her hand. “Good.”

“But will you do something for me?” David asked, looking at her intently. “Will you go to Dr. Whale?”

“I don’t need—“

“Yes, you _do_ need,” he insisted. “I know you don’t want to tell Robin yet, but _I_ could always go with you, you don’t have to go alone.”

Regina made a face. “I don’t think we have that kind of friendship. It would be too weird.”

“Well, fine. Take Snow. Or Emma. Whoever.” David put his hand on her shoulder, prompting her to roll her eyes and exhale exasperatedly; David took no notice. “But you _have_ to make an appointment with Dr. Whale. Or I’ll do it for you.”

Regina’s eyes flickered closed exasperatedly. “ _Fine,”_ she droned. “I’ll call.”

David smiled triumphantly. _“_ Good.” He gave her a little push back through the kitchen door. “Now, come on. Eat your soup.”

 


	37. Chapter 37

 

“And New York is just _so_ incredible at Christmas!” Belle gushed through the phone. “Oh, my God, I wish you were here right now, so you could see this!”

“I don’t think the crocodile would be too pleased with that arrangement,” Hook said absently, frowning as he rifled through Belle’s desk drawer for something interesting, grimacing when all he came up with was a handful of paper clips. 

“ _‘Crocodile’.”_ He could hear her rolling her eyes. “All right, whatever. Hey, did you put up the Christmas decorations in the library, like I told you?”

Hook glanced at the garden gnome he’d stuffed a Santa hat on and shoved in the corner. “Sure…”

“And play the Christmas music, okay? I want Christmas spirit in there.”

“I’m the only one in here,” he scoffed, throwing himself into her wheeled desk chair. “God, this place is _boring._ ”

“So play the Christmas music. You remember how to work iTunes?”

“I think so…” Hook wheeled forward, squinting as he trailed the cursor across the screen. Back during their first couple dating rounds, Ruby had schooled him in technology—and proved to be an excellent teacher, as he could now discuss things like “gigabytes” and “computer crashing” with ease. Some things, he still had to consult his notes for (like “cookies”, that always threw him), but most of it was fairly easy to pick up. 

“Okay,” he said, scrolling through her playlists. “Is it…’ _Christmastime, bitches_ ’ or ‘F _uck, yeah, it’s Christmas_ ’?”

“‘ _Christmastime, bitche_ s,’” she responded promptly. 

“Okay.” He clicked ‘play’ and held the phone to the speaker, so she could hear for herself that he’d listened to her. “Satisfied?”

“Thank you,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Okay, I gotta go. Me and Rumple are going to lunch pretty soon, and I need to get ready—hang on—“

Hook waited as she held her hand over the answer piece, listening to someone in the background. 

“Rumple says ‘hi’, and that he thinks your eyeliner is silly.”

“Tell him I said ‘hi’, and that his suits are doll-sized.”

“Okay, I will. I’ll call you later, all right?”

“Have nice time, love.”

As soon as Belle hung up, he turned off the Christmas music: he _detested_ sleigh bells, and every single one of those goddamn songs had a goddamn sleigh bell in it. 

“Let’s see…” he muttered to himself, going through Belle’s music.”What shall we listen to?”

“Anything but ‘Frosty the Snowman’.”

Hook looked up as Robin walked into the library, Roland resting on his shoulders. “Hey,” Hook said, noting the snowflakes melting against their jackets. “Snowing, is it?”

“ _Wow…_ ,” Robin said in mock awe. “You really _do_ work for the police department.”

“So sassy,” Hook snorted, glancing at them over his computer screen. “I see you’ve brought your little troll with you.”

“Don’t call him a troll,” Robin scolded. “He’s my son.”

“Who’s a troll,” Hook muttered under his breath. 

“All right—“ Robin said in a strained voice, swinging the boy off his shoulders and setting him on the ground. “Go on, Roland. Go find a book.”

“Daddy, come,” Roland pouted, tugging on his sleeve. Robin shook his head.

“No, no, Daddy’s _tired_ ,” he said, untangling Roland’s fingers. “I’lll be right here, okay? You can pick out any book you want.”

“Daddy…” Roland tottered after him as Robin pulled out a chair from one of the tables, and dropped into it exhaustedly. “Daddy, come.”

“Ask Uncle Killy,” Robin murmured sleepily, leaning back in his seat. 

Hook frowned, slowly lifting his head. _Uncle Killy?_

Roland clamped both arms around one of Robin’s. “I want Daddy…” he whined.

“Yes, take _Daddy,_ ” Hook said, staring daggers at Robin. “Uncle Killy’s busy finding a rope to hang himself with.”

Robin groaned, passing a hand over his eyes. “All _right…_ ” He pushed himself off the chair, heaving a sigh. “Let’s go find a book.”

“And don’t you ever refer to me as ‘Uncle Killy’ again!” Hook ordered as they went off in search of the children’s section. 

He went back to his iTunes, frowning as he scrolled through Belle’s musics. Didn't she have _anything_ good in here? There was just a bunch of girly pop music! 

“Come on, Belle,” he muttered frustratedly. “What _is_ this?”

He was thoroughly engrossed in searching through and criticizing Belle’s taste in music when Robin and Roland returned to the counter with a small stack of children’s books. Hook flicked his eyes briefly at them.

“What?”

“Roland wants to check some books out,” Robin said, taking the books from his son and putting them on the counter. Hook rolled his eyes, getting up from his chair to scan the books out. He grimaced, going through the stack of insipidly cheerful picture books: _Paul the Parrot Makes a Friend!; Lucy the Lemur Bakes a Cake!; Jason the Jackal Paints A Picture!_

“Very exciting lives, all these animals lead,” Hook remarked, handing the books to Roland. “Making friends, baking cakes…”

“What do we say to Uncle Killy?” Robin prodded the boy. Hook gritted his teeth as Roland beamed up at him, and said in his still-nauseatingly-babyish voice, “Thank you.”

“Any time, Roland. Get out of my sight.”

“Whoa—“ Robin turned to him in surprise. “Bit harsh, are we?”

Hook shrugged, pointing Roland in the direction of the kiddie tables. After a permissive nod from Robin, Roland gathered his small stack of books and tottered over to the table. Robin watched him go, then turned back to Hook.

“So,” he said, raising his eyebrows as he leaned his elbows on the counter. “Any progress with Ruby?”

“Mmm—“ Hook clicked his teeth, shaking his head—“I don’t know. I’m not really sure where we’re at.”

“What do you mean?” Robin frowned.

“Well…we’ve been keeping things friendly, but I wouldn't say there’s _progress,”_ he said. “I can’t really tell what’s going on in her head.”

“Of course you can’t,” Robin snorted. “She’s a woman.”

“I know. That’s one of my favorite things about her.” Hook dropped his head back, groaning at the ceiling. “Robin, this is _exhausting…_ ”

“You want exhausting?” Robin said grimly. “Try having a kid.”

“Ugh.” Hook brought his head back up, glancing down at his phone on the counter. “Wish she’d call me or something. I can’t stand the not knowing. It’s driving me mad.”

“Why don’t you just call her?” Robin suggested. Hook scoffed at his ignorance.

“I don’t want to scare her off. She’s only just now starting to come around.” He leaned his fist against the counter, frowning at it to avoid Robin’s gaze. “I want her to know I’m serious this time, I’m not just bored and looking for a way to pass the time.”

Robin opened his mouth, his tongue clicking against his teeth. “Awww….”

“Shut up.”

“But that’s so _cute…”_

 _“_ Right. Get out. Get out of my library.” Hook pointed to the door, glaring at Robin. “You and your little troll are not allowed here anymore.”

“Roland’s not a troll,” Robin frowned, not moving. “Don’t call him that.”

Hook glanced over to the little yellow kiddie-table, where Roland was flipping through one of his books. Roland— _ugh._ He shuddered. How did Robin _not_ see the troll in that child?

“You know what you should do?” Robin picked up Hook’s phone, scrolling through the contacts. “Text her.” He tossed it to Hook, who stared at him in disbelief. 

“Are you _mad?_ ”

“Something neutral,” Robin shrugged. “Just something like, ‘Hey, how’s it going?’”

“‘Hey, how’s it going?’” Hook repeated, looking down at his phone bewilderedly. “Then what?”

“Then you wait for her to respond.”

Hook  bit his lip, and hesitantly typed in the message. “ _Hey… how’s…it…going…_ question mark.” He looked up at Robin. “Should I put a smiley face in there?”

Robin shook his head emphatically. “Overkill. Then you _will_ scare her off.”

“Okay. _No_ smiley face.” Hook took a deep breath, his finger hovering above the button…and hit SEND. Instantly, he tossed the phone on the counter, taking several steps back. “Now what?” he asked anxiously.

“Now we wait.” 

“Right. Wait.” Hook slumped back to the counter. “How long does this usually take?”

“I don’t know,” Robin said. “She’s back to working at the diner, she might not get back to you for a couple hours.”

“ _Hours?_ ” Hook stared at him with wide eyes. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you? You let me send a text to this woman, and she won’t get it for _hours_?”

“Just—calm down, all right?” Robin said, holding up a hand as Hook started hyperventilating. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“I’m not sick, you’re sick!” Hook flared, flinging an accusing finger at him. “You’re sick! You’re a sick man, you—you _sicko!_ How could you do this to me?”

“I haven’t done anything to you!” Robin said indignantly. “I’m helping you get your girlfriend back, how is that sick?”

“I don’t know, but I know it’s _sick,_ ” Hook hissed, glaring at him. Robin snorted derisively. 

“You are so—“

Hook held up his hand, staring in wonder as the phone vibrated against the counter, the words NEW TEXT MESSAGE flashing across the screen. He and Robin stared at it for a minute, watching it rattle against the counter.

“Pick it up,” Robin urged. Hook looked up with wide eyes, hardly breathing.

“You think it’s her?”

“Only one way to find out,” Robin said, nodding toward the phone. Hook looked down at it, hesitantly reaching his hand out—then drew back, shaking his head.

“I can’t, I’m too nervous. _You_ do it.” He pushed the phone toward Robin, snapping his hand back as though it burned him. 

“What are you, a thirteen-year-old-girl?” Robin scoffed, but he picked up the phone nonetheless to read the text. Hook watched anxiously, searching his face for any signs of dismay or pity.

“You can relax,” Robin said, glancing up. “It’s just Neal, he wants to know if you’ve seen Emma’s sheriff badge. She can’t find it.”

“Oh,” Hook said, slumping. “Yeah, I put it in the fridge behind the orange juice.”

“You did _what?_ ” Robin looked at him incredulously. “What the hell is wrong with with you?”

Hook shrugged. “I just wanted to see how long it would take for her to notice it was gone.”

Robin sighed, typing back a reply to Neal. “You’re so immature. Three hundred years old, and you’re still no better than Roland.” He tossed the phone back on the counter. “You’re getting the next one.”

“But what if the next one’s _Ruby?_ ” Hook hissed. “I can’t! I’ll do something stupid, like—like add an inappropriate smiley face or something!”

“Stop worrying so much,” Robin said. “You’re just—“

The phone buzzed again. Robin and Hook slowly lowered their gaze to the phone rattling insistently against the counter. 

“Go on,” Robin said quietly. Hook shook his head. 

“I can’t.”

“You can. Now pick it up before Ruby finds another boyfriend.”

Hook took a deep breath, and slowly reached out his hand, grasping the phone tightly. He unwrapped his fingers, peeking at the flashing NEW TEXT MESSAGE alert. Swallowing, he slid his thumb across the screen, opening it. His heart nearly stopped when he caught sight of Ruby’s name.

_Not bad. What’s up?_

_“_ Help me,” he said immediately, shoving the phone into Robin’s hands. Robin juggled it, startled.

“What? What is it?” He held up the phone, squinting to read the text. “Well, that’s not bad. What’s the problem?”

“I don’t know how to answer!” Hook said wildly. 

“Just…” Robin frowned, twitching his mouth to the side. “Okay, I got it.” He started typing, ignoring Hook standing on his tiptoes, lifting his chin to read the screen upside down. 

“What did you put? What are you writing? Robin? Robin, don’t—NO!”

“It’s _fine!_ ” Robin insisted, jerking away as Hook reached for the phone. “All I put was, _‘I heard you were working at the diner again—my condolences.’_ See, it even _sounds_ like you, it’s fine!”

“Don’t—you—ever—do that!” Hook said through gritted teeth, still fighting past Robin’s hands. 

“I’m— _helping—_ you—“

They froze as the phone buzzed again, theirs arms still tangled as they stared at Robin’s hand holding the phone.

“Read it,” Hook whispered.

Robin slid his arms out of Hook’s grip, turning away to read it. “‘ _Lol, thanks. You should come by later’_!” he read out triumphantly, whirling around. “I _told_ you!”

Hook’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God. Now what, now what?”

“ _Now—_ “ Robin grinned, walking over to lean back against the counter—“now we get to the good part. Take a seat, lad. You’re about to see some _epic_ text-flirting.”

 


	38. Chapter 38

 

 

“ _So._ ” Henry grinned, sliding into the seat across his parents. He folded his hands on the table, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “What’s up?”

The truth was, he knew exactly what was up. A typical Saturday night was usually hanging out in the loft, watching T.V., eating cereal out of the box (it didn't matter which one of them he was with, they both did that). But _today,_ they had—“for no particular reason”—decided they were going to go out to Granny’s for dinner, the three of them…. almost as if they were (dare he say it?) a _family._

The fact that Neal and Emma sat on the same side was his first confirmation of what was coming. Normally when the three of them went out (which didn't happen as often as Henry would have liked), Neal sat on one side, while Emma and Henry sat on the other. But _today,_ they were sitting on the same side, in a very couple-y sort of way. It was like how you could walk into a room, and just _tell_ from the way two people hovered around each other whether or not they were a couple. And Henry was confident that if two strangers walked in and saw Neal and Emma stand in the corner together, they’d say, “By Jove! They _must_ be a couple!” (Well, not that, exactly, that would be weird, but something along those lines.)

His second confirmation came when Emma said, “Henry…there’s something we need to tell you.”

 First of all, the formality of it all made it obvious it was not only _big_ news, but it was difficult to say. And if there was anything difficult for his parents, it was talking about their emotions and feelings: Emma less so than Neal, but Henry knew she’d rather take a punch to the face than have someone see her cry.

 Plus, she said _we._ Which meant it was Neal-and-Emma-news. And there were only three kinds of news parents could have together: “we’re splitting up”, “we’re having a baby”, and “we’re getting back together”. Now, it couldn't be the first one, obviously; the second one wasn't as certain, but Hook had _told_ him last week that there was no “next one” coming along, so all that was left was Door Number Three. 

“Sounds exciting,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “What’s going on?”

Emma opened her mouth, clearly struggling. Henry fought back his smile, though he could _feel_ his eyes gleaming. 

“What is it, Mom?” he asked innocently. “Tell me.”

“Smug little bastard,” Neal snorted, making Henry and Emma whip their heads toward him. Neal looked between the two of them, raising his eyebrows. “What?” he laughed. “He _knows._ You know, don't you, Henry?”

“Know what?” Henry cocked his head, feigning ignorance. 

Neal rolled his eyes. “We’ve decided to switch our car insurance to Geico, we thought you should know.”

“Well, fifteen minutes _could_ save you fifteen percent or more on car insurance,” Henry said seriously. “Congratulations, you guys. This calls for champagne.”

Neal snorted. “He _knows._ ”

“I know he knows!” Emma said exasperatedly. “So, it’s fine, okay? Now everyone knows, and we can move on.”

“Know _what?_ ” Henry persisted. He knew that they knew he knew, but he wanted to hear them _say it._ It would have been nice to have actually verbal confirmation, instead of just deducing and theorizing everything. “I don’t know. Is there something to know? I didn't even _know_ there was something to know.”

“We _know_ you know, and you know it!” Emma retorted. 

“Know. What?”

“ _You_ know.”

“I know that you _think_ I know, but I don’t know what there is to know, and how would you know if I knew it?”

“This is getting ridiculous,” Neal said. “Emma, just tell him.”

“You tell him.”

“Why should I tell him? He already _knows!_ ”

“Everything okay here?”

Henry jumped, looking around wildly at Ruby as she stopped at their table, taking out her notepad to take their orders.

“Yeah, we’re good,” he muttered, feeling his ears burn. 

“Okay,” she said, whipping out her pen. “You guys know what you want?”

Henry pretend to consult a menu until his face stopped turning red. The words were too close for him to read, but Ruby didn't have to know that. “Hamburger for me,” he said, his voice slightly muffled against the page.

Ruby sucked in a breath. “You’re brave, kiddo. I’m legally obligated to tell you, people have been known to get food poisoning after eating it.”

Henry didn't know what made him feel worse: the fact that Ruby called him “kiddo”, or that Granny’s food was slowly becoming more and more inedible. Maybe Tony was going senile. “Lasagna’s fine. Plain, no meat,” he added, lowering the menu.

“Good call,” Ruby grinned, scribbling it down. “Okay, Emma? Neal?”

Emma cleared her throat. “I think I’ll go—“

“Hang on, I’m buzzing!” Ruby said suddenly, and shoved her notepad in Neal’s hands, so she could fish her phone out of her pocket. “Here—“ she tossed him the pen—“write down what you want.”

Neal blinked several times, startled. “Okay,” he said, taking up the pen. “Em, you know what you want?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll go—“

“Oh, my _God!_ ” Ruby giggled, reading something off her phone. She shook her head, still laughing as she typed back. Henry raised an eyebrow, slowly turning his head to exchange a look with Neal. Emma glowered at Ruby

“Sorry, are we disturbing you?” she hissed. “Disrupting your social life?”

“You’re fine,” Ruby said pleasantly, waving her off. “Actually, can I ask you guys something?”

“Sure,” Neal said, before Emma could say something snarky. “What’s up?”

Ruby slid her finger across her phone a couple times, and leaned over so they could both look at the screen. “I got him this for Christmas,” she said, lowering her voice. “What do you think? Would he like that?”

“Oh, yeah,” Neal nodded emphatically, Emma grudgingly agreeing beside him. “He’ll love it.”

Henry frowned. _Him?_ Who _him?_ Not…? “What are you guys talking about?” he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

Ruby glanced over. “It’s nothing,” she shrugged, straightening up. “Just something I got for this guy I know.”

“What guy you know?”

“Henry,” Emma said warningly. “It isn’t nice to pry.”

“It isn't nice to keep secrets.”

“It isn't nice to kick puppies. There, everyone’s thought of one, game’s over!”Neal said before they could get into a mother-son-argument. “Now, Emma, what do you want?”

“Grilled cheese, onion rings,” she said promptly. Neal slowly looked up, staring straight ahead.

“You want grilled cheese and onion rings.”

“What?” she said defensively. “I _like_ grilled cheese.”

“With _onion rings?_ You don't eat cheese with onion rings, it doesn't mix well.”

“I ate pineapple with pepperoni, didn't I?”

“No, you ate the _essence_ of pineapple with pepperoni.”

“It’s literally the same thing.”

“It’s literally not.”

“Neal, I want grilled cheese. I want onion rings. Write it down, or I’m going to tell Belle you broke that vase in the front hall.”

“You broke the _vase?_ ” Henry laughed gleefully. “Oh, shit, she’s going to blow her lid! How’d that happen?”

“Floor hockey,” Neal said at the same time Emma said, “Football.”

The smile slowly slid off Henry’s face. “You know what? It’s okay, I don’t need to know.”

“Hmph,” Ruby snorted. “I haven’t ‘played floor hockey’ in a while.”

“Okay, thank you, Ruby!” Neal said loudly as Henry started dividing three hundred-forty-two by thirteen to distract his mind. “Here’s your notepad, with our orders—should I send Henry up to get them when they’re ready, or…?”

“Point taken,” Ruby said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll be back, guys.”

Emma pinched her forefingers to the bridge of her nose, humiliated. “Okay, let’s just get this out of the way, make the official announcement, and then never talk about it in front of the kid again.”

Neal cleared his throat. “Henry.”

“Dad.”

“Me and her? Happening.”

“Awesome.”

“Great.” Neal turned Emma, abruptly changing the subject. “Graham’s been bitching at me. Again.”

Emma frowned, lifting her head. “About what?”

“He’s complaining that I don’t do anything,” Neal scoffed. “But come on, like there's really that much to do? The only criminal in town is Will Scarlet, and all he does is break into the library!”

“And Leroy,” Emma said. “Don’t forget Leroy.”

“Who cares about Leroy?” Neal asked the ceiling. 

“No one,” Emma agreed. “Don’t worry about Graham, though, okay? He’s just uptight, it’s just his way. He’s got to have everything _just_ so.”

“It’s obnoxious.”

“Uh, _yeah._ ” Emma shook her head. “You know, he jumped down my throat because he didn't like the way I organized the files?”

“Why, how’d you organize them?”

“Well…I didn’t.”

Neal shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that.”

Emma smiled at him. “See?” she said, pointing her finger. “This is why I like you.”

Ruby brought them their food ten minutes later, balancing all three plates on a tray, and her phone in her other hand. She hurried over to them, heels clattering, and shoved the tray at Neal.

“Take it, take it! I’m buzzing!” she exclaimed, frantically checking her vibrating phone. 

“Okay, but I get half your tip tonight,” Neal told her, handing Emma and Henry their plates. “Who are you talking to, anyway?”

Ruby wiggled her eyebrows. “Who indeed?” she said mysteriously, then erupted into giggles as she read her screen. “So… _sassy,”_ she said, shaking her head as she typed back, absently walking away.

Neal turned to Emma, pointing a French fry at her. “I’ll bet you ten bucks it’s Hook.”

“Oh, come on, that’s too easy,” she complained, tearing the crust of her sandwich. 

Henry stuck his fork in his lasagna, grimacing at the clammy texture. He carefully poked a hole through the top layer, peeling it off to see the curdled cheese underneath. “ _God,_ ” he gagged, pushing it away from him. Tony _must_ have been going senile. How did you mess up cheese lasagna? 

Emma lifted his plate and deposited it on the empty table behind them, while Neal pushed his French fries to the center for Henry to  pick on. 

“We might have to stop coming here,” he said. “I feel like Tony’s getting old.”

“Here—“ Emma dumped her onion rings onto the plate. “I don’t want ‘em. They taste weird with grilled cheese. _Don’t!_ ” she added fiercely as Neal snapped his head up, smiling triumphantly.  “Don’t.”

Neal held up his hands in surrender. “I wasn't going to say anything,” he grinned. Henry snorted, prompting Neal to start laughing, despite his best efforts. Emma glowered at her sandwich.

“I hate you guys,” she muttered, making them laugh harder. “ _Stop.”_ They laughed harder still, pointing at her and cracking up as her temper flared. “Guys—!”

“Phillip, _please!_ ”

Their laughter faded as the three of them whipped their heads in the other direction, watching Phillip stalk away from Aurora, slamming the door shut behind him. Aurora stared at the door for a minute, then fell to her knees, crying softly. They watched her for another minute, all three wondering whether they should do something….and ultimately deciding against it.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Neal shrugged.

“She’s a fighter,” Emma agreed.

“I believe in her,” Henry said earnestly. 

They tried to ignore her growing sobs, attempting to talk over the noise, but Aurora’s heartbroken wails turned to desperate pleas and cries, louder than anything els in the diner. Eventually, Neal tossed down his napkin and a few bills.

“Let’s go home,” he said. “Diner food sucks, anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m not really feeling this grilled cheese,” Emma said, standing up. “I could really go for some Cheerios.”

“No, let’’s order pizza,” Henry argued. “I want pizza.”

“Pizza’s fine by me,” Emma shrugged. “Neal?”

“Pizza’s good,” he said, tugging his coat on. “But we’re not ordering the essence of anchovies, so don’t even ask.”

 


	39. Chapter 39

“So, how are you liking New York?”

Belle smiled, resting her head on Rumple’s shoulder as they walked down…Whatever Avenue. “I _love_ it,” she said, sighing contentedly. “Thank you for taking me, I _love_ it.”

Rumple smiled, tugging open the door to the restaurant and holding it open for her. Belle sailed in, taking in the fancy white table cloths and dimly-lit lamps. There was soft jazz music playing in the background, and waiters with little bow-ties and everything. Very classy, indeed, Belle thought.

Rumple put his hand to the small of her back, guiding her to the host’s podium.”Hi,” he said to the suited, important-looking man standing behind it. “We have a reservation for two, under ‘Gold’.”

“ _Gold…._ ” The man adjusted his spectacles, and ran his finger down the list of names. “Ah, yes, here we are!” He snapped his fingers, moving fro behind the desk. “Follow me.”

They followed him to a little table by a window, elegant candlesticks on either side of a vase of flowers. Belle nudged Rumple, smiling. 

“So _fancy,_ ” she said under her breath.

“I know,” he whispered back, pulling out her chair. 

“Thank you,” she said, smoothing her skirt as she took her seat. Rumple went around to the other side of the table to sit down, nodding his thanks as he took the menus from the host.

“Louis will be your waiter this evening,” he said, gesturing to the young man who materialized beside him. “I leave you in his capable hands.”

“Good evening.” He shifted his position, stepping in front of the table as the host left to go do other hostly things. “And what will we be drinking tonight? May I make a recommendation?”

“Let’s see…” Rumple skimmed the menu, looking at the wine list. He twitched his mouth back and forth indecisively. “Hmm…”

Belle picked up her menu, flipping through the entrees. By the time she picked one out, Rumple might have narrowed it down between three wines, and then she would only have to wait another hour before he decided.

There were so many fancy, complicated names: some of them with little French accent marks, all of them with detailed descriptions of the _buttery glaze that is complemented by the whatever-the-hell-kind-of-spice-is-on-these-potatoes._ Belle frowned, looking for something good…or at least something she recognized. Somehow, she doubted they served hamburgers here. 

Rumple picked out some fancy wine a few minutes later (Louis was growing increasingly impatient), but Belle still had not settled on anything. It was a bit daunting, going through all these Frenchy names and trying to translate them. She didn't want to end up ordering snails or anything, but she didn't want to seem so unclassy as to not understand French. All high-society-people spoke French…didn’t they? 

“Belle, do you know what you want?” Rumple asked, flipping a few pages back. “I think I’ll go… _Hachis Parmentier.”_

Belle wrinkled her nose. “What’s that?”

“It’s like—“ Rumple waved his hand, shrugging. “It’s kind of like shepherd’s pie.”

“Oh.” Belle glanced back at her menu, shaking her head as she ran down the list of entrees. “I don’t suppose you serve hamburgers here?” she asked Louis.

He wrinkled his forehead disdainfully. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, come on, don’t pretend you don’t know what a hamburger is,” Belle said scathingly. 

“No, madam, we do not serve—“ he rolled his eyes slightly—“ _hamburgers_ here.”

“Fantastic.” Belle went back to her menu, exhaling in frustration. “All right…what’s this—“ she squinted at the words—“ _Coq au Vin,_ what is that?”

“Chicken prepared in red wine,” Louis sniffed. 

“That sounds good, I’ll take that.” She folded her menu and handed it to him, smiling tightly. “You take care, Louis.”

Louis scribbled down their orders and took away their menus, promising to return shortly with their wine. Belle watched him disappear into the kitchen, then turned to Rumple with a smile.

“So,” she said. “Guess what Hook told me?”

Rumple’s eyes flitted to the ceiling. “He found out Victoria’s secret?” he said dryly.

“ _No._ ” Belle drummed her hands on the table happily. “Emma and Neal are going out now.”

“What?” Rumple leaned forward in disbelief. “When did that happen?”

“About two weeks ago, I think? Maybe a week and half, I’m not sure,” she shrugged. “But yeah, Hook says they get coffee in the morning and everything, they’re all couple-y.”

Rumple sat back. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” she beamed. “I’m _so_ happy for them, aren't you?”

“He didn't tell me!” Rumple said indignantly. “I can’t believe this, I just talked to him last night, and he didn't tell me!”

“Oh, don’t be offended,” Belle wheedled. “Neal never talks about that stuff, you know that.”

“But I’m his father,” Rumple insisted. “Shouldn’t I know if he’s got a new woman in his life?”

“Technically, she’s not new,” Belle pointed out. “Emma was new fifteen years ago, and I know for a fact you’ve met her since then.” She snapped her fingers. “That reminds me—I still haven't found anything for Emma yet.”

“How’s that?”

“Christmas presents,” Belle said impatiently, and starting counting off on her fingers. “I’ve taken care of Henry, David, Neal, still debating on Hook’s—“

“He doesn't need a inscribed pocket watch,” Rumple said exasperatedly. “It’s too expensive. Just get him a dog from the shelter with a bow around it, and call it a day.”

“He hates dogs.”

“All the more reason to get him one.”

“Besides,” Belle went on, ignoring him. “He’s already got a werewolf girlfriend, he doesn't need another pet.”

“ _Had,_ ” Rumple corrected, smiling nastily. “She dumped his ass.”

“Well, according to Robin…” Belle snorted at the look of disappointment on Rumple’s face at the thought of Hook not being miserable. “Oh, come on, you _knew_ that was going to happen again.”

“I just hoped it wouldn’t,” he sighed. “She can do better.”

“No way,” Belle said. “ _He_ can do better.”

“You’re just saying that because you hate Ruby—“

“Yes, and you’re just saying that because you hate Hook.”

Rumple shrugged, not denying it. “So, I was thinking about offering Henry a little part-time job,” he said, adjusting his jacket. “Help me out in my shop, after school. Spend some time with him.”

“Will he have time?” Belle frowned. “I thought he was doing magic lessons with Regina for the whole Cora-revival-thingy.”

“He’s got some books, that’s it,” Rumple scoffed. “Regina’s barely started teaching him anything, and it’s been a month. I taught her in half that time how to conjure a fireball. Henry can barely pull a quarter of your ear.” He tapped his lips thoughtfully, looking up at the ceiling. “Maybe _I_ could teach him…”

“No,” Belle said instantly. “You’ve been doing too well, Rumple, I don’t think you should start playing around with magic again. Let Regina have this, she know what she’s doing.”

“Yeah, but I could _help,_ ” Rumple said enthusiastically. “What if I—?”

“ _No._ ” Belle gave him a severe look. “You don’t want to have to detox again, do you?”

Rumple sighed, letting his head fall back. “No, I suppose not…”

Louis came by a little later with drinks, promising to bring them their food shortly. Belle gave him a frosty “thank you”, still a bit miffed about his earlier derision.

“Oh, this is good,” Rumple said appreciatively into his wine glass after Louis had left. 

“Mmm,” Belle agreed, setting her glass down. She looked around the restaurant, shaking her head in wonder. “I still can’t believe I’m here. I’ve wanted to go to New York for _so_ long.”

“You know, Neal’s still got that apartment in the city,” Rumple said. “I think he’s subletting it to some college kids until his lease runs out, but maybe we could buy them out…have somewhere to stay if you want to come back sooner than later.”

Belle looked at him with shining eyes, her face lighting up. “ _Can_ we?” she asked excitedly. “Ask him, ask him!”

“I’ll talk to him when we get back.” Rumple smiled coolly, raising his eyebrows. “Among other things. Like why he didn't tell me about Emma.”

Belle opened her mouth to tell him not to take it personally when a sultry voice purred, “Oh. My. God. Rumplestiltskin, is that you?”

Rumple turned white. “ _Shit,_ ” he squeaked. 

“Rumple what is it?” Belle twisted around, looking for the owner of the voice. She frowned at a tall, skinny woman with  a ridiculous amount of furs draped over her scrawny form, who was coming toward them with a big, red-lipped smile. “Can I help you?”

“My God, it _is_ you!” she breathed, ignoring Belle as she gazed at Rumple. “Darling!”

“Cruella,” Rumple whispered, looking as though he were going to fate. 

“And who’s this?” The woman beamed at Belle, her black-and-white bangs flopping as she turned her head. “Girlfriend?”

“Wife, actually,” Belle said irritably. “Who are you?”

“An old friend,” Rumple intercepted. “I knew her a long time ago. _Long_ time ago.”

“More than an old _friend,_ wouldn't you say?” Cruella said delicately. “Speaking of old friends…”

She swept her arm out, gesturing behind her as a tall, powerful-looking woman rose from the seat, eyeing Rumple suspiciously. 

“Darling, you remember Ursula, don’t you?” Cruella said, wrapping her arm fondly around the woman. Rumple stared at her with wide eyes, nodding mutely.

“Hello, Rumple,” Ursula said, a dangerous smile flitting across her face. She nodded at Belle. “Who’s the Girl Scout?”

“His _wife,_ ” Belle said through gritted teeth. “Now, who the hell are you? Besides the most obnoxious welcoming committee I’ve ever met?”

“Belle—“ Rumple’s voice was strained, cracking nervously—“this is Cruella, and this is Ursula. They’re…they’re from our land.”

“Okay,” Belle said, still eyeing the two of them with extreme dislike. “And?”

“And they’re old friends,” Rumple croaked.

“ _Ursula’s_ an old friend. I’m the ex,” Cruella said, her eyes gleaming at Belle. “As in, _girlfriend._ Of course, I don’t really swing that way anymore…” Her eyes flicked to Ursula, and they shared a smile.

“Nor do I,” Ursula said, tearing her eyes away from Cruella’s. “Although, that doesn't mean I wouldn't mind seeing Hook again. Where is that little cockroach? Back in our land, getting herpes from some half-breed human or something?”

“Actually, he’s in Storybrooke,” Belle said, rising out of her seat to her full height, which was pathetically lower than Cruella’s and Ursula’s. “Why? What do you want with him? What do you want with _us?_ ”

“Don’t get your pigtails in a twist, Girl Scout,” Ursula snorted. “I just wanted to say hello… introduce my fist to his face a couple times…”

“Now, darling,” Cruella said soothingly. “I thought we discussed this…Use a blunt object, not your own fist. I don't want you to get bruised on _his_ account.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Ursula grumbled. 

“You could borrow my cane,” Rumple offered. “I’ve used it before on him, it works quite well. So does a car,” he added thoughtfully. 

“So does a bookshelf,” Belle mused. “And from what I understand, Ariel can slap him into a concussion.” She shook her head. What was she saying? Hook was her best friend, and it didn't matter how secretly funny it was when he fell down or got whacked upside the head—she was _not_ going to encourage this. “Can we help you find something? Why are you still here?”

“Are you _joking,_ darling?” Cruella laughed. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen Rumple? We’ve got _so_ much catching up to do. In fact—“ she pulled over a chair from an empty table, and sat down, smiling eagerly. “I think we’ll join you for dinner. You don’t mind, do you, darling?”

“Actually—“

“ _Brilliant!_ ” She clapped her hands together, beaming. “Oh, this is going to be _such_ fun!”

 


	40. Chapter 40

 

“Hook—“ Robin impatiently slapped away the pirate’s hand as he reached for another French fry. “Stop stealing my food.”

“Guys, we have to come here more often,” Hook said, looking between Neal and Robin. “This is _so_ much better than Granny’s.”

They were at the White Rabbit, taking advantage of the Monday special. Normally, if the three of them were going to hang out, they grabbed a bite at Granny’s and then came back here for a drink. But Neal had gotten a coupon last week, so here they were, enjoying the considerably better food and service of Jefferson Hatter’s restaurant. 

“Dude your phone’s going off,” Neal said, nodding at Hook’s buzzing phone. Hook looked around wildly, snatching his phone up to read the text. His eyes skimmed it once, twice, three times before handing it to Robin and leaning over his shoulder to watch him type. Neal watched with raised eyebrows. When did Robin become Hook’s personal assistant?

“What’s this?” he asked, gesturing between the two of them. 

“Robin’s helping me with Ruby,” Hook said distractedly, frowning at the screen. “No, don’t write that, you’ll make me sound like a complete git.”

“I know what I’m doing, mate,” Robin said, shrugging him away. 

“What do you mean, he’s helping you with Ruby?” Neal said, crinkling his forehead. “I thought you guys were doing okay now.”

Hook glanced up wearily, as though Neal’s ignorance was a major inconvenience. “Neal,” he sighed. “It’s a very delicate situation. I need help handling it.”

“Well, why didn't you ask me? You know I’d’ve helped.” 

“ _No,_ you would have told me to get over it, and just talk to her like a normal human,” Hook said impatiently. “Now, be quiet—Robin needs to focus.”

Robin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “How to approach this…” he murmured. “We can go ‘sweet’, we can go ‘sarcastic’, we can go ‘sexy’.” He looked up at Hook, raising an eyebrow. “Your call.”

“No, no, no, it’s _your_ call,” Hook said, shaking his head. “That’s what you’re here for.”

“Well, it still needs to _sound_ like you,” Robin argued, gesturing at the phone. “Just read this, and tell me how you would respond.”

“Probably slutty,” Neal remarked, twisting a fry. Hook gave him an irritated look.

“You haven’t even read it.”

“I don’t need to read it to know you’d come up with something slutty.”

“Well, hang on,” Robin frowned, holding up a hand. “We can go ‘sexy’, but we can’t go ‘slutty’, it’ll ruin the whole effect.”

“Is there a difference?” Neal scoffed.

“Yes,” Hook and Robin said, both looking at him as though he were incredibly stupid. Neal raised his eyebrows, holding up his hands in surrender.

“’S’cuse me,” he said. “Didn’t realize there was a finesse to sexting.”

“It’s not _sexting,_ ” Robin said witheringly. “It’s texting flirtatiously.”

“Again, is there a difference?”

“ _Yes,_ ” they said exasperatedly. 

“Sorry. Jesus.” 

“Oh, that reminds me—“ Hook snapped his fingers at Neal. “I’m supposed to talk to you for Tink, so…just pretend I said something sexually harassing on her behalf, okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Neal, obviously I’m talking about the fact that I made a deal with Tink to talk to Ruby for me in exchange for talking to you for Tink, so if you could just cooperate with me here!” Hook inhaled sharply, and turned his face away as if he could no longer bear to look upon Neal’s oblivion. 

“Okay…I think I’m just about finished…” Robin held up the phone for Hook’s approval; Hook squinted at it, nodding thoughtfully. 

“Yes, good…good,” he muttered. “But I don’t care for that winky-face.”

Robin looked at it. “It’s charming.”

“I don’t use winky-faces, though.”

“You should start. They’re cute.”

“It’s a semicolon and a parentheses, Robin. Get past it.”

“I’ll bet _Ruby_ thinks they’re cute.”

“Yes, but she thinks I’m cuter.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Semicolon and parentheses, mate.”

“Yes, but sometimes it shows up as an actual little smiley-face. See?”

“I don’t care. I don't use winky-faces. Neal, tell him I don’t use winky-faces.”

“He doesn’t use winky-faces.”

“There, you see? No winky-face.”

Robin sighed heavily, shaking his head as he deleted the winky-face, while Hook looked on triumphantly.  Neal exhaled slowly, watching him mutter a few more instructions to Robin, pointing at the text. “Hey, can I make a request?”

“Mmm?” Hook tore his eyes away from the screen, raising his eyebrows.

“When you two get back together,” Neal said, pointing between Hook and the phone, “could you not do that thing where you slam against the wall? My dresser’s right up against the other side, and you guys always knock everything over.”

“I thought you were staying at your dad’s place?” Hook frowned.

“He didn't _move_ to New York, he’ll be back next week. Which means, I’ll be back at Granny’s next week, which means I’ll be back next door to you next week, which means please don’t slam against the wall.”

“I promise nothing, Neal,” Hook told him solemnly. “Wherever the moment takes us.”

“Then could the moment take you to _her_ room?” Neal said irritably. 

“Oh, please,” Hook said, rolling his eyes. “You’re telling me you and Emma don’t indulge in a little wall-slamming?”

“Okay, _one—_ that is the most socially awkward euphemism I’ve ever heard in my life; _two—_ you are the most socially awkward person I’ve ever met in my life; and _three—_ boundaries, dude. Respect them.”

“Does it hurt?” Robin asked, looking up from the phone. “Like, when you _literally_ slam into the wall, does it hurt?”

Hook shrugged. “Sometimes. Depends on whether or not there’s a picture frame behind me.”

Robin winced. “That sounds painful.”

“It can be,” Hook agreed, absently rubbing the back of his head. “It can be quite painful.”

Neal and Robin frowned, eyeing him suspiciously as he rubbed the back of his head. Hook dropped his hand, looking between the two of them defensively.

“ _What?”_

“Picture frame?” Neal asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Library shelf. I was bent over to shelve some books, and I stood up and hit my head on the shelf above me. I _did,”_ he insisted as they exchanged a skeptical look. 

“All right…” Robin muttered.

“Whatever you say…” Neal sighed. 

“And just so you know, once you’re back at Granny’s, _I_ would appreciate it if you and Emma would keep any attempts at a Henry, Part Two _quiet,_ ” Hook said, raising his voice as Robin and Neal groaned at his awkwardness. 

“Do you ever stop talking?” Robin said.

“It’s like he’s _asking_ me to punch him,” Neal said in wonder. “Like, he _actually_ wants me to punch him.”

“Yeah, I know,” Robin scoffed. “Besides, I mean, there’s no way you two are anywhere _close_ to that stage of the relationship.”

Neal frowned. “What do _you_ know about it?”

“I don’t know anything,” he shrugged, going back to the phone. “I’m just saying, you two can’t possibly be anywhere near that part.”

“We already _were,”_ Neal said pointedly. _“_ Have you met Henry? Our son?”

“Yes, you _were,_ but that was fifteen years ago,” Robin said, unfazed. “You started over, the whole relationship’s back to square one. And you’re barely at square one. You’re more like at the part where you’re still taking the little game pieces out of the box.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you guys are crawling,” Robin said absently, his fingers moving across the keyboard rapidly. 

“We _just_ got back together—“

“It’s been over a week, and you two are still just ‘hanging out’, like buddies.”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? Have you guys even had an official date yet?” Robin asked, still typing away. “Or are you still in the pizza-at-home-stage?”

“What are you talking about?” Neal frowned. “That _is_ a date.”

Hook snorted. “No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” Neal insisted. 

“No, it’s not,” Hook said matter-of-factly. “A date is when you dress up, you go out to a nice restaurant, you make eyes at each other over the bread basket, and you spend the night whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ear.”

Neal made a face. “Okay, I’m not doing _any_ of that.”

“You have to,” Hook shrugged. “Or you’re not going to be doing any of Emma, either.”

“See, _this_ is why I have to help him,” Robin said to Neal, grimacing. Hook nodded in agreement. “But he’s right, you really should take her somewhere nice for an _actual_ date.”

Neal looked between the two of them, scoffing. “Emma’s not even into the whole fancy-restaurant-thing, anyway. Trust me, I know her better than you do.”

“Perhaps,” Hook said, lifting an eyebrow. “But you’re the boyfriend. There are certain things she’s not going to tell you that she might instead choose to confide in….oh, I don’t know, the best friend?”

Neal stared at him dryly. “Is it you?”

“She wants a for-reals date, Neal,” Hook said flatly. “You better do it.”

“She told you this.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really. She came by the library to use the printer because the station’s printer is a piece of shit, and then I made her stay and talk to me, and she got me back for that by spending the whole time complaining about things in general. And one of them was that you guys don’t do enough couple-y stuff. So concerned was I—“ Hook put a hand to his heart and sighed deeply, as if in awe by his own heroism—“I didn't even make a joke about _doing couple-y stuff._ So, you see, Neal, you really should take my advice or you are going to have one unhappy lady love on your hands.”

“We _do_ couple-y stuff—ha, ha, it’s hilarious, Hook. Jesus Christ, grow up already—we _do_ the couple-y stuff, okay? We get coffee every morning, that’s a couple thing. We sit on the same side of the booth sometimes. We hang out all the time at my dad’s place, just us—“

“Just as well,” Hook piped up. “Watching television and eating cereal out of the box really is a private couple matter, don't you think?”

Neal gave him an annoyed look. “Don’t you have a text from Ruby to squeal over?”

“No, I’m still waiting for her to text me back. _Then_ I’ll squeal.” Hook stole another of Robin’s fries and, ignoring Robin’s protests, pointed it at Neal. “Take that woman out to a nice restaurant, give her a little romance. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

Neal raised his eyebrows. “Says the only one of us _without_ a girlfriend.”

“Those circumstances are going to be changing _quite_ soon, I assure you,” Hook said, snatching up his phone. “We are in a very delicate transition phase.”

“That’s not a transition phase,” Neal said, nodding at the phone. “That’s how middle-schoolers act when they _like_ like someone.”

Hook waved his hand vaguely at Neal, his eyes firmly fixed on his phone. “Whatever you say mate. Now, if you could just keep it down, I have to _think_ ….”

“Thinking isn’t going to make her text back any faster.”

“It might.”

“It won’t.”

“You’re distracting me. Shut up.”

Neal rolled his eyes. “Okay, well, when you’re done thinking, you guys want to grab a drink? I could go for a little something.”

“You have to drive me back home,” Hook frowned, not looking up. “No drinking for you.”

“I said, _a_ drink. Not, _let’s get wasted._ ” Neal turned to Robin. “What  do you say? You up for it?”

“No, I should be getting back soon,” Robin sighed, checking his watch. “Regina’s still sick, I don’t want to leave her alone for too long.”

“She’s still sick?” Neal said, raising his eyebrows. “What’s wrong with her? That’s going on a couple weeks now, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what it is,” Robin said, rubbing his eyes. “She’s got headaches, backaches, stomachaches…throwing up every other day, completely exhausted, lost her appetite…I’m starting to get worried.”

“Maybe she’s got one of those baby-things in her,” Hook said distractedly, frowning at his phone screen. Neal’s eyebrows shot up; Robin’s head snapped to the side, looking at Hook with wide eyes.

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“Baby,” Hook repeated, setting his phone down with a sigh. “Still hasn't texted back, if that’s what you’re—“

“What do you mean, ‘a baby-thing inside her’?” Robin asked in a panicked voice, starting to hyperventilate. “You think she’s pregnant?”

“Not listening, not listening!” Neal said loudly, putting his hands over his ears. If there was one thing he didn't need to hear about, it was his _sister_ being _pregnant_ by one of his _friends._ Now that was disgusting, definitely something he didn't need to hear about—especially over _dinner._

“I don’t bloody know, do I?” Hook said irritably. “Do I look like a doctor?”

“No, you look more like a slutty version of the Fonz, but that’s beside the point. You honestly think Regina could be pregnant?”

“Robin, _please!_ ” Neal begged, squeezing his hands even more tightly over his ears. 

“I don’t _know,_ mate!” Hook said exasperatedly. “Now stop bothering me! I’ve got to figure out a way to transition from text-flirting to talk-flirting, so I can just ask Ruby out and get my girlfriend back! And I can’t do that with you talking my bloody ear off about Regina’s cravings! Now, shut up!”

He shook his head at Neal, mouthing _Unbelievable!_ and went back to his phone. Robin exchanged an incredulous look with Neal, and slowly turned back to Hook, staring at him in disbelief.

“How can you possibly be so self-absorbed?”

“Years of practice.”

“It’s extraordinary,” Robin said in wonder. “Every time I think you’ve reached the _highest_ level of selfishness a person can achieve, you find another rung on the ladder.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s not a compliment, mate.”

“I know. I’m choosing to take it as a compliment.”

Robin closed his eyes. “Okay,” he said, getting up from his seat. “I have to go. Before I punch him.”

“Bye,” Neal said, propping his feet up on Robin’s now-vacant chair. 

“Bye.”

“Hey, Robin…” Hook called out distractedly.

Robin turned, pausing in his walk out. “What?”

“Nothing, really, just…if you need ideas—“ Hook looked up from his phone—“Chloe’s a pretty name for a girl.”

 

* * *

 

 

Emma hummed to herself, opening and closing the cabinets in Examination Room C as they waited for Dr. Whale to return. There was nothing of interest so far: just a few tongue depressors and cotton balls. Exhaling frustratedly, she slammed the last set of cupboards shut and moved onto the drawers.

Regina gave her an annoyed look as she rifled through them. “Do you have to do that?” she asked irritably. “I asked you to come with me to keep me calm, not help me stock up on Band-Aids.”

“He already took the blood test,” Emma frowned, holding a syringe up to the light to examine it. “My job’s done, I got you through the hard part.”

Regina let out an incredulous laugh. “No, you didn’t! The hard part is waiting for the results, and you’re not doing shit!”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” Emma said, twisting around. “Hold your hand?”

“Maybe stop making so much goddamn noise?” Regina shot back.

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Ooh, I see the _hormones_ are already acting up.”

 _“Don’t._ ” Regina glared at her. “I’m nervous enough as it is.”

“You should be,” Emma said, casually leaning against the counter. She picked up an otoscope and squinted through the tiny lens. “Pregnancy’s a bitch.”

“So I’ve heard,” Regina grumbled, her nails digging into the sides of the examination table. “How long does it take for a blood test, anyway?”

“Why don’t you just take one of those drugstore tests?” Emma asked, twirling the otoscope through her fingers. “They only take, like, a minute or two.”

“Because I’m not trusting what could be the most important thing in my entire life with a ninety-nine-cent pregnancy test from Clark’s store,” Regina said icily. “Now either say something to calm me down, or shut up.”

Emma pushed herself to a seat on the counter, bracing her hands against the edge as her feet dangled below. “Well, let’s see…” She furrowed her brow thoughtfully. “I could sing you a Christmas carol?”

Regina slowly turned her head, glaring at her disdainfully. “What?”

“A Christmas carol, I could sing you a Christmas carol,” Emma offered. “I’ve been told I’ve got a lovely voice. Listen—- _Hark, the herald angels sing—“_

“Emma—“

“ _Glory to, the_ newborn _king—_ did you see what I did there, with the ‘newborn’?”

“This isn't helping.”

“Of course, it’s helping. _Peace on earth—_ “

“Emma, so help me God, if you don’t shut up right now, I’m going to take that scarf and strangle you with it.”

Emma protectively put her hands around her scarf, recoiling. “Neal gave me this.”

“And I’ll be sure to return it to him, once I unwrap it from your cold, lifeless body,” Regina hissed. 

Emma rolled her eyes, but desisted: if there was one thing she’d learnt over the years, it was that provoking an already-agitated Regina never ended well. “Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

“Is it weird, me dating your brother?”

Regina stared at her for a long time, then slowly trailed her eyes up to the ceiling, as if asking God for an explanation. “This is what you want to talk about right now?”

“It’s just—“ Emma shrugged, twirling the otoscope some more. “You remember when I first came to Storybrooke? When you used to hate me?”

“‘Used to’?”

“But we both wanted to see Henry, and then the curse broke and we found out you were my step-grandmother…and then we found out Rumple was Henry’s grandpa…and now we find out that you’re also Henry’s aunt because Neal is your brother—“

“Where are you going with this?”

“I don’t know,” Emma said truthfully. “It’s just funny how things work out. I never would have guessed when I first came here how connected I would be to everyone. It’s kind of sweet how fucked up this family tree is.”

Regina raised an eyebrow. “You have an interesting way of looking things.”

“So, is it weird, me dating Neal? I mean, since you guys are siblings and everything now? Is it still weird, or is it just like, ‘Hey, why not?’ at this point?”

“Honestly, Emma, it’s weirder that you keep asking me about it,” Regina said through clenched teeth. 

“Yeah, but does it bother you?” Emma asked, growing impatient. 

“If I say ‘no’, will you stop talking?”

“So, it _does_ bother you?”

“If I say ‘yes’, will you stop talking?”

“So, it _doesn't_ bother you?”

“Emma, shut up!”

Emma groaned exasperatedly, dropping her head back. “You told me to talk to you—“

“Yes! And then I spent the last ten minutes begging you to stop!”

“All right, ladies, settle down…” 

Dr. Whale walked in, frowning down at his clipboard. Emma hastily stowed the otoscope away, shoving her hands in her coat pockets. Regina watched his every move, her eyes flickering between the clipboard and his face. 

“Well?” she asked, her voice a little higher than usual. “Wh-what does it say?”

Whale looked up, an eyebrow raised. “Well,” he said, tossing the clipboard down and putting his hands in his white coat’s pockets as he walked toward her. “Mazel tov, Regina. You’re definitely preggers.”

Regina turned white. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, only managing a strained, squawking noise. Whale nodded his head, as if hearing what Emma knew was going through Regina’s head: _Are you sure? Really?_

Emma, for her part, was less convinced: she had dealt with Dr. Whale before. “Is she actually pregnant?” she asked suspiciously. “Or is this you trying to break bad news to one of your patients again?”

“Emma, please—“ Regina squeaked, but Emma put up her hand.

“It’s okay, Regina, he does this. I came in here with a fractured rib, and he told me I was pregnant. You probably have an ear infection or something.”

“Well, I’ll tell you—that’s one hell of an ear infection if it can send a woman into labor in nine months to deliver a baby,” Whale shrugged. 

Regina swayed on the examination table. “B-b-b-baby?” she babbled, for the first time in her life _not_ dignified and composed. “Me?”

“Yep,” Whale nodded.

“For reals?” Emma asked, raising her eyebrows. “Like…a _baby,_ baby?”

“Is there another kind of baby?”

Emma turned to Regina with wide eyes. “Regina…” she breathed. “Congratulations.”

Regina swayed more violently, looking like she was about to vomit. “Thanks,” she said faintly. 

“I mean, that’s…wow. Holy _shit._ ”

“Thank you, Emma.”

“Oh, but this is so exciting!” Emma gushed, going to sit down on the table by Regina to put her arm around her. “Oh, my God! I mean, this is _huge!_ How are you going to tell Robin? He’s going to be so happy! Oh, and he’s _such_ a cute daddy, you guys are going to be adorable! And now Roland and Henry will have a little sister or brother to play with, they’re going to love that! I’m _so_ happy for you guys!”

“Thank you,” Regina said numbly. 

Emma squealed happily, hugging Regina around the neck. “We have to go out and celebrate! What do you want to do? Hmm? My treat! The boys are at the White Rabbit, so we should probably avoid that or I’m going to ruin the surprise, but what about that nice little Italian restaurant on the corner?”

“Actually, Emma, I think I’d like to go home and have a cup of tea,” Regina said quietly, composing herself as she gathered up her coat and purse. “Please let go of me.”

“Oh. Okay.” Emma drew her arms away, her smile fading. The poor woman: she looked completely sick. Not that Emma blamed her: she remembered what it’d been like to look at that little pink plus sign. It had been entirely overwhelming—which was actually the understatement of the century. There weren't enough words to describe the shock and fear and excitement and despair and happiness she’d felt simultaneously. 

But she understood Regina’s need to downplay it, she reflected as they walked down the hallway toward the front lobby. Regina was very similar to her brother in that regard: she didn't like people catching her being emotional (though her wildfire temper made that nearly impossible). Emma was sure Regina was feeling a great deal more than she was letting on, but she was also sure Regina wasn't going to confide in her any time soon.

That didn't stop her from talking as soon as they got in the car.

“So, how are you going to tell Robin?” Emma asked again as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Over a candlelight dinner or something? That would be cute.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Regina inhaled deeply, directing her gaze out the window. “Actually, Emma, I’d appreciate it if you didn't say anything. I…need a few days.”

“No problem,” Emma shrugged. “It’s your news.” She glanced at Regina, who still looked rather pale. “You scared?”

“Terrified.”

“It’s going to be a rough couple of months, I won’t lie to you,” Emma sighed. “Doctor appointments, aches and pains, throwing up, maternity clothes—“

“Oh, my God.” Regina gagged, putting a hand to her mouth. “ _Maternity clothes._ ”

“No more sensible pantsuits.”

“ _God._ ”

“Plus, you get all sorts of weird cravings, and there’s the mood swings and hormones going off…you start crying randomly, you can’t sleep, you’re exhausted _all_ the ti—“

“Emma,” Regina said suddenly. “Could you shut up? Just for a minute or two?”

Emma slowly closed her mouth. They drove in silence for a few moments, Regina staring dully out the window, Emma sneaking side glances at her.

“Not to mention, you can’t drink—“

“SHUT. UP.”

“Yes, ma’m.” 

 


	41. Chapter 41

 

 

_You want to trade notes tomorrow?_

Henry blinked a few times, then slowly typed back a reply: _Sure. Study hall okay?_

He blew out a breath and closed his phone, folding his hands over each other. Okay. This was good. Fine. All very well and …good.

Robin glanced up from his menu, looking between Henry and the phone. “Who was that?” he asked, nodding at the phone.

“No one,” Henry shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “Just this girl I know.”

Robin dropped the menu, immediately interested. “A girl, eh?” he said, his eyes gleaming. “Your girlfriend.”

“ _No._ ”

“A girl you _want_ to be your girlfriend.”

“Dude, stop.”

Robin covered his mouth with one hand, trying to hide his smile. “ _Henry’s got a girlfriend, Henry’s got a girlfriend, Henry’s got a…_ ” He trailed off as Henry stared at him with half-lidded eyes, daring him to go on. “I’ll stop.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Henry picked up his menu and peered down at it, raising an eyebrow. “Does any of this look remotely edible?”

“Not really,” Robin sighed. “We should’ve gone to the White Rabbit. I went there last night with your dad and Hook—it was fan _tas_ tic, seriously.”

“Meh—“ Henry shrugged, still perusing the menu. “We’ll go next time.”

“Next time,” Robin agreed. “So, who’s this girl?”

“My lab partner. That’s all.” Henry tossed the menu on the table, studiously ignoring Robin’s infuriatingly big smile. “How’s my mom?”

The smile dropped. “She’s not feeling great. Still.” Robin shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking rather ill; he looked as though he were struggling to say something. “Er…Henry? C-can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, go for it,” Henry said, checking his phone. _Damn it._ Nothing.

“How, uh…how would you feel about—?” Robin gulped, looking very queasy indeed, and shook his head. “You know what? It’s stupid. Hook was just saying some nonsense that got in my head, never mind.”

“Mmm,” Henry said absently, still frowning at his phone. _Come on, ring…RING, GODDAMN IT!_

“So tell me about this lab partner,” Robin said, partially in an effort to change the subject. “Is she pretty?”

“Jesus, Robin!”

“All _right._ Sorry.” Robin cast his gaze around the room, whistling. Henry flicked his eyes upward, giving his head a derisive little shake. God, Robin was awkward sometimes. She was just his _lab partner,_ for Christ’s sake. That was it. There was nothing else there.

Maybe she was slightly hot, so what? That didn't mean anything. It just meant she was slightly hot. 

And so what, that he kept checking his phone to see if she’d texted back? That was just because he was organized, and he needed to know if she was okay with trading notes at study hall. Preparation was everything.

F-for _organization,_ of course. Which he needed. For school. A-and life…Yeah.

“ _So…_ what’s her _name_?” Robin said in a sing-song voice, smiling widely.

Henry closed his eyes, clenching his teeth. “If I tell you, will you promise to shut up?”

“Yes.”

“Violet.”

“ _Oo-ooh,_ Henry loves _Violet—_ “

“Robin.”

“Right. Sorry.”

After a few minutes of awkwardness during which Henry continued to glower at Robin, who was humming and looking at the ceiling, Ashley came over with her notepad at the ready.

“You guys all set to order?”

Robin and Henry exchanged a confused glance, and frowned at Ashley. What the hell? Wasn't Ruby their designated waitress?

“Where’s Ruby?” Robin asked. “Isn’t she working?”

“She’s working the counter,” Ashley shrugged. “This is my table.”

“Oh…” Robin continued to eye her suspiciously. “Curious…Since when did Ruby start working the counter?”

“Since she took a break last week, and everyone’s been telling Granny I provide much better waiting service,” Ashley grinned. “They like me.”

Henry snorted in disagreement, ignoring Robin’s warning look. 

“Is she not serving tables anymore?” Robin asked, looking rather anxiously. “It’s just…Regina hates for her routine to be disrupted, and complaining about Ruby is such a large part of her day…”

“I really don't know,” Ashley said, a little irritably. “Maybe you should ask Granny.”

Robin opened his mouth to answer when his phone rang. “Damn it,” he muttered, patting his pockets down. Ashley tsked loudly as he pulled out the phone and held it to his ear. He raised his eyes and pointed his finger.

“This is not over,” he warned her, before saying into the phone, “Yes, who is it? What do you want?”

Henry watched Ashley through half-lidded eyes as she scoffed and turned on her heel. Robin was holding his hand over his ear, talking exasperatedly at whoever.

“Yes, I’m at the diner!…Yes, she’s working—at the counter, or so I’m told…What?… No, mate—bad idea, I’m…No, it’s too soon, you’ve got to give it some time….Mate, listen to me—I said, _no…_ You can’t! I told you, it’s too— _Damn it!_ ” Robin slammed the phone down, making Henry’s eyebrows fly up. “It’s premature!” he barked. “He’ll never pull it off, it’s too _soon!_ ”

“What are you talking about?” Henry asked, stunned by his outburst. “Dude, you’re going to pop a vein or something.”

“I’ve got to give that poor girl a heads-up, before he comes in and makes a right bloody mess of everything,” Robin growled, getting up from the table. _“Git._ ”

* * *

 

Ruby dutifully filled the sugar containers. It seemed her entire life had been reduced to filling the sugar containers. That, and pouring coffee. 

Apparently, _Ashley_ was a much better server than she was.

She scoffed. _Right._

Honestly, though, she didn't really give a rat’s ass anymore. In fact, since her break from Granny’s, she’d really been considering finding a new job altogether. It wasn't like the pay was that good or she enjoyed the work: the highlight of her day was filling sugar containers, for Christ’s sake.

“Ruby!” 

Ruby looked up at the sound of Robin’s voice: he looked a mixture of angry and apologetic, striding toward her with a determined set to his jaw. “…Yeah?”

“I need to talk to you,” Robin said briskly, setting his hands flat on the counter. “It’s important.”

“Okay…” Ruby shifted nervously. She hoped Robin knew she wasn't legally responsible for Tony’s mistakes, that was all on Granny. And it would make _such_ an awkward conversation. 

“I know you’ve been tex—oh, goddamn it _._ ” Robin exhaled at something over her shoulder, pinching his forefingers to his nose. “I _told_ him…”

Ruby turned around as the little bell rang. “Hook?” she said in surprise as he made his way to the counter. 

“How are you, love?” he smiled, somewhat nervously. Ruby twitched a frown: it was odd, seeing him nervous. Normally, he was obnoxiously self-confident. 

“Hey,” she said, smiling back uncertainly. “You all right?”

“Erm…yeah. I think so.” Hook’s eyes darted to Robin, and his smile tensed. “Oh, look at the time, Robin. _I suppose you’ll have to be going now?_ ”

“No,” Robin said, lowering his hand to glower at him. “I think it’s a bit too _soon._ ”

“I think it’s none of your business right now, mate _._ ”

“I think it is, _mate.”_

 _“_ Maybe we should ask _Regina,_ mate.”

“Maybe we should leave Regina out of this, _mate._ ”

“Maybe we should show Regina _the evidence_ , mate.”

“Maybe I should _delete_ the evidence, _mate._ ”

“Maybe that’s obstruction of justice, _ma—_ “

“Okay, mates!” Ruby said loudly, holding her hands up. “Let’s just…relax, okay? Robin, you want to go back to your table? You look like you’re going to pop a vein in your head or something.”

Robin scowled, putting his hand over his forehead. “See you later, then… _mate,”_ he added viciously.

“See you, _mate_.”

 Hook watched him head back to his table, then turned his eyes back to the counter, calmly running his finger along the surface.  Ruby brushed a few sugar crystals off as she waited for him to say something. Hook folded his hand into a fist and rapped his knuckles listlessly on the counter, exhaling through his teeth.

“ _So…”_ he said finally. Ruby glanced up.

“So.” She folded her arms, leaning her elbows on the counter. “What’s up?”

“Uh…” Hook blinked a few times, and attempted a smile. “Just…just, uh…”

Ruby bit back a smile. “You’re kind of adorable when you’re nervous,” she said, straightening up and moving from behind the counter. She tugged his sleeve, prodding him to follow her to a table. “Come on.”

Hook obediently followed her to a table by the window, sliding into the seat across from her.  Ruby  let out a breath, drumming her hands on the table.

“Okay,” she said. “For real—what’s up?”

Hook examined his rings, avoiding her gaze. “So, you and me have been texting back and forth lately…”

Ruby raised her eyebrows, nodding slowly. “Yeah…?”

“And it’s been…successful?”

“ _Mmm-hm?_ ” she prodded him. 

“So maybe…” Hook trailed his finger in a circle, sneaking a glance up at her, before dropping his eyes again. “Maybe you want to go out with me-ish?”

Ruby carefully swallowed her laughter, trying to hide her smile. “Maybe.”

Hook’s brow twitched in frustration. “Okay, _will_ you go out with me-ish?”

“Ish?”

 Hook let out an impatient breath. “You’re an impossible woman.”

“ _Too_ impossible?” she asked sweetly, rather enjoying herself. 

“No,” he sighed. “Not too impossible.”

“So, what are you asking me?”

“I’m asking you to go out with me. No ish. Better?”

Ruby inhaled deeply, considering. “Why?”

“Why?” Hook frowned. “Why what?”

“Why should I go out with you?” she shrugged. “Why do you want to go out with me?”

Hook shook his head slightly in disbelief. “Because you’re pretty and I like you. Obviously.”

Ruby folded her arms, leaning back in her seat. “Going to need a little more than that,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “‘Because you’re pretty’ is not a good way to win me over.”

“I said, ‘and I like you’,” Hook said in annoyance. 

“Fine. _Why_ do you like me?”

“Because—“ Hook grit his teeth in frustration, closing his eyes. “Damn it, Ruby!”

“ _Damn it, Hook!_ ” she imitated.

“Why do you have to be so difficult?”

“Why do you have to be so immature?”

“Well, there has to be _something_ wrong with me,” he said reasonably.

“Clearly,” Ruby agreed, narrowing her eyes.

Hook seemed to catch her meaning. “All right, fine.  I like you because you’re…” He waved his hand vaguely. “I don’t know. You’re funny.”

“Funny.”

“Yes, you say funny things. And you’re a lot smarter than you look.”

Ruby frowned, tilting her head. “Thank you…?”

“And I like when you get all snappy because you don’t let people walk all over you,” he went on. “And I like that I can be an idiot around you because you call me out on it without being nasty, which is more than I can say for anyone else in this damn town—cough, cough, Emma and Neal.”

Ruby half-smiled. “Okay.”

“You can be very sweet,” he said, ticking things off on his fingers. “You’re fun to be around. You don’t like children, which I find _very_ attractive in a woman, since I hate the little buggers myself. And also, I—“ Hook blew out a breath, looking a little embarrassed. “I genuinely care about you.”

Ruby put a hand to her heart, touched. “Hook…”

“And it is _astounding_ how flexible you are,” he added, looking at her in wonder. “I mean, my God, woman! You must have trained professionally!”

Ruby’s smile faded. _And the magic’s gone._ “Okay. Moment’s over,” she sighed. “Moment is _definitely_ over.”

“So….?” Hook raised an eyebrow, shrugging slightly—a pathetic attempt at nonchalance. “How’d I do?”

“Better than expected,” she said truthfully. “Although, I’m not entirely reassured.”

Hook winced. “Was it the flexibility comment?”

“It was the flexibility comment,” she nodded. 

Hook cursed under his breath. 

“ _But…_ “ Ruby said, looking at him carefully. “I can’t say you don’t have a point. I mean…I _am_ extremely flexible.”

Hook looked up disbelievingly. “Does that mean—?”

“Hang on,” Ruby said, putting up a hand. “Let me just make myself clear. I am agreeing to go out with you. That does not mean I am your girlfriend. It means that we are starting over completely, okay? That means _everything._ ” She raised a meaningful eyebrow. “Okay?”

Hook nodded slowly, trailing his gaze up to the ceiling. “So none of…?” He pointed up.

Ruby shook her head.

“And none of…?” He pointed to the hall with the jukebox.

Ruby shook her head. 

Hook inhaled deeply, nodding his head in consideration. “I can accept those terms.”

“Good,” Ruby said looking down at her hands.

“So…” Hook exhaled, drumming his fingers on the table. “Now what?”

“We could sit…Talk, maybe.”

“Yeah, okay….” Hook scratched the back of his head absently. “So—what should we talk about?”

Ruby shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Well…” Hook tapped the table a few times. “I don’t know about you, but I find alcohol to be very conducive to conversation.”

“You’re an alcoholic,” Ruby said exasperatedly.

“No, no, love—I’m a pirate. That’s just how we communicate.”

“You can’t keep calling yourself a pirate. You have an iPhone.”

“Only a crappy one,” he said defensively. 

“I don’t care. You’re an alcoholic.”

“Not a violent one.”

“A _slutty_ one.”

“I fail to see your complaint.”

Ruby closed her eyes, bringing her hands to her face. “You are _such_ a little man-whore.”

“Yes, darling, but look—if the man-whore-ness was to go away? _This—_ “ he gestured vaguely at his ensemble—“would go away. You don’t really want that, do you?”

Ruby thumped her head on the table. “Bring on the alcohol,” she sighed. “It’s exhausting talking to you.”

 


	42. Chapter 42

 

“Sit _down,_ darlings, please!” Cruella urged, ushering them inside her lavish apartment. Belle gave her an awkward smile as she followed Rumple in, clinging to his elbow. “Sit, sit, sit!” Cruella insisted, waving them toward the expensive-looking couch. “Ursula, get them some drinks, would you? She makes a _mean_ martini,” she added to Belle with a wink.

Belle nodded, smiling uncomfortably. “Great.” She leaned toward Rumple and whispered in his ear, _“I don’t want to be here._ ”

“You think I do?” he muttered back. “Oh, thank you—“ as Ursula held out a glass to him. 

“Thanks,” Belle said, taking hers.

“Sit, darling,” Cruella said, lazily leaning back as Ursula handed her a third glass. “You work too hard.”

Ursula took her seat beside Cruella, draping her arm around the other woman’s shoulders; her eyes gleamed at Rumple, as if to say, _Ha, ha—she’s mine._ Cruella smiled smugly, flicking her eyes almost derisively at them.

Belle exchanged a glance with Rumple: were these women _actually_ trying to intimidate them?

“So, tell us about Storybrooke, darling,” Cruella said. “I feel as though we barely skimmed the surface the other night.”

“What did we talk about?” Ursula asked. “Oh, _yes,_ how Rumplestiltskin has actually seen fit to let that leather-obsessed pirate whore to live. Gone soft, Rumple?”

“Gone tolerant, actually,” Rumple replied, lifting his chin. “Between Belle and my boy, Neal, I’ve got enough people trying to keep me on the straight arrow for me to actually make the effort. So, yeah, if you want to call it ‘going soft’, go ahead.”

Belle smiled at him appreciatively, taking his hand. “And Regina,” she reminded him. 

“Regina?” Cruella sat up, her eyes moving rapidly between them. “What about Regina?”

“She’s his daughter,” Belle said, not noticing Rumple’s frantic motions to shut up. “Which—“ she snorted—“makes her my stepdaughter.”

“Regina’s in Storybrooke?” Ursula said, as if Belle’s words had gone in one ear and out the other. “Seriously?”

“Yeah…” Rumple said, shifting uncomfortable. Cruella and Ursula exchanged a scoffing look, shaking their heads. “What?”

“No, it’s just… I’m surprised she’s still alive after everyone found out she cursed them,” Cruella said, shrugging. “I know _I_ wouldn't have allowed that. She’s the reason we’re stuck in this godforsaken world in this first place.”

“She’s the reason dear Maleficent  had to force—I mean, send us through the portal here,” Ursula added.

“To watch over her child—“

“—who she sent through—“

“—to protect her from Regina’s curse—“

“—which failed abysmally, because we lost her after that—“

“—wasn’t our fault, it’s so easy to misplace a baby—“

“—ended up in the foster system, poor dear—“

“—but we found her when she was fourteen—“

“—on a bus from Minnesota—“

“—of all places, _Minnesota_ —“

“—so we took her home—“

“—and she’s been our little angel ever since,” Cruella finished, smiling fondly at Ursula. “She’s got a place in the city, comes over every Thursday for dinner.”

“How…nice,” Belle said, a little thrown by the barrage of information. “It sounds like you and your daughter are really close, that’s nice.”

“Yes, it is,” Cruella agreed, sighing contentedly. “Although, it would be nicer still if Lily had been able to know her _real_ mother…Such a shame, she’s always been haunted by that.”

“The poor thing,” Ursula said sadly. “She’s such a sweet girl—“

“—a little feisty, sometimes—“

“—occasionally, bad-tempered—-“

“—holds a grudge like Germany—“

“—but only because she wishes she knew her mother—“

“—terrible that she couldn’t—“

“—that’s why she acts out—“

“—had a few run-ins with the law—“

“—more than a few—“

“—but what’s the law for, if not to break it?” Cruella asked delightedly, throwing her hands up. 

“And we’ve told her all about _you,_ of course,” Ursula said. “She’s very excited to meet you.”

“Meet us?” Rumple repeated, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes, she’s coming by later, but don’t worry about that now,” Cruella said, waving her hands dismissively. “We want to hear more about _you,_ darling.”

“Yes, tell us about your son, Rumple,” Ursula said, smiling at him over her glass. “Has he really forgiven you?”

“Yes,” Rumple said simply. “We’ve made our amends. Now that he’s got a boy of his own, he understands.”

“There’s a _grandson?_ ” Cruella tutted. “Oh, don’t tell me that, darling, you make me feel old.”

“His name is Henry,” Belle said, trying to push herself into the conversation (it seemed like all three of them had forgotten she was there at all). “He’s nearly fifteen, I think. Good kid.”

“Clever boy,” Rumple nodded. “A little cantankerous at times, but yeah, he’s a good kid. _Adores_ Neal,” he added. 

“He’s a good father,” Belle agreed with a smile. 

“And son,” Rumple added. “Even if he has secret girlfriends that he won’t tell his father about.”

“Let it _go,_ Rumple,” Bell said through clenched teeth.

“But I forgive him,” Rumple went on with a little sigh. “The things you do for your children…You know, if it wasn't for Neal, I’d have stabbed the little pirate whore to death _ages_ ago, and buried him under my roses.”

“And Neal’s stopping you?” Cruella snorted. “What on earth is wrong with him?”

“He’s his best friend,” Rumple grimaced. “What indeed.”

“And mine,” Belle said, a little stung. Exactly how invisible _was_ she?

“ _He’s_ friends with _you?”_ Ursula said disbelievingly. “What _kind_ of friends?”

“Not with _benefits,_ if that’s what you’re asking,” Belle said, narrowing her eyes at Ursula’s skeptical look. “He’s got a werewolf girlfriend he trades STD’s with; I just eat lunch with him.”

“Oho,” Ursula said, leaning back in her seat and exchanging a significant look with Cruella. “He’s got _another_ girlfriend. Big shocker. _Big_ shocker.”

“Yes, I do hope this girl’s got a lot of gumption,” Cruella added grimly. “You need it, to be able to stomach all his bullshit.”

“Well, she’s got claws every month, so I’m sure she keeps him in line,” Rumple said briskly. “Can we stop talking about him now? My dinner’s threatening to make an encore all over your nice Persian rug.”

“Never the rug, darling,” Cruella said, casting a protective glance at it. “It cost me a fortune.”

“Why would you spend so much on a _rug?_ ” Belle frowned. 

“They’re very in, darling. I simply _had_ to have it.” Cruella smiled wickedly. “My third husband learned that the hard way.”

Belle’s eyebrows shot up. “What does _that_ mean?”

“It means, good life insurance and marriage to Cruella is a lethal combination,” Ursula said, smiling at Cruella. “Good thing my life insurance is crap.”

“Oh, you wound me, darling. You know I would never kill you,” Cruella said, chucking her under the chin. “Who would make me my martinis?”

A knock at the door interrupted their laughter, and Cruella’s and Ursula’s heads snapped up. 

“That’ll be Lily!” Cruella said excitedly, leaping up. “On my way, darling!”she called, clattering on the toes of her ridiculous heels. They heard the door swing open, and a loud, _“Darling!_ ”

“Hi, Mom,” a woman’s voice said.

“Come in, come in! Here, I’ve got some people for you to meet!”

Cruella clattered back, tugging after her a dark-haired young woman with an air about her that said, _You, and what army?_ Belle instinctively shrank back: maybe because she was tiny, and this girl looked like she could pack a solid punch; maybe because Belle knew she was raised by psychopaths who were supremely unconcerned with committing murder; maybe because Lily eyed her suspiciously, like she was planning to take her down anyway. 

“You must be Lily,” Rumple said, smiling awkwardly. “I’m—“

“Rumplestiltskin,” Lily nodded. “I know. And your wife, Belle. My moms told me.”

“Great,” Belle said, attempting a smile. Lily glanced at her, raising her eyebrows and smiling tightly. _Oh, the awkwardness…Just kill me now. Dear God in Heaven, bring me home._

“So…you’re from Storybrooke, I hear,” Lily said, taking a seat between her moms. “Regina’s cursed town.”

“And Regina’s still there,” Ursula added with a significant look. “So, we could use her blood—“

“What?” Rumple sat up, his eyes wide with panic. “What are you talking about? Use Regina’s blood, what is this?”

“Relax, darling, not all of it,” Cruella soothed. “We’ve been working for years and years on how to resurrect dear Maleficent—after all, one doesn't expect she’d survive Regina’s wrath, the little—“

“My daughter,” Rumple reminded her dangerously.

“The little sweetheart,” Cruella continued smoothly. “And it turns out, there _is_ a spell: the blood of the person who’s wronged you most, and an object that carries deep personal significance for the person you’re resurrecting. And now, we’ve got both.”

“Provided, you know where Maleficent’s, er… _remains_ are,” Ursula said delicately. “We’d like Lily to know her mother—“

“—and of course, Lily would like to know her mother,” Cruella added. “She _so_ reminds us of her—“

“—and we do miss Mal—“

“—very much, she was so lively—“

“—pretty easy on the eyes, too—“

“—and besides, I’m sure she would _love_ to catch up with Regina—“

“—once we resurrect her, that is—“

“—which we are going to do, darlings, because you see—“

“—we’re coming back with you, to Storybrooke—“

“—that’s why we’re so interested in talking to you—“

“—because on your own—“

“—you’re really quite dull,” Cruella finished, seemingly not seeing Belle and Rumple’s deeply offended expressions.

“And what makes you think you’re coming back with us to Storybrooke?” Belle demanded. “We’re going to let you tag along, so you can kill Hook and Regina? I don’t think so.”

“We’re not going to _kill_ anyone,” Cruella said, rolling her eyes. “Quite the opposite, darling, pay attention.”

“No,” Rumple said instantly. “No more resurrections. That town already has one zombie, and a second on the way if Regina ever gets around to it. No more.”

“So it _can_ be done!” Ursula said excitedly, clapping her hands. “I knew that spell would work!”

“That spell is bullshit,” Rumple scoffed. “It wasn't a spell, it was my grandson. So you can forget about it, because Henry’s never going to help you resurrect someone who’s going to hurt Regina; nor am I going to give you that _chance_ to hurt Regina. You’re not coming back with us, and that’s final.”

“You don’t scare me, Rumple,” Ursula snorted. “You’ve _gone tolerant._ You can’t do a goddamn thing to stop us or Nelson—“

“Neal.”

“—whatever—is going to hate you again.”

The three of them leaned back and smiled in satisfaction at Belle and Rumple’s helpless faces.

“I’ll pack my bag tomorrow,” Lily said folding her arms. “Moms, book a flight.”

 


	43. Chapter 43

“Hey, so when does your dad come back?” Emma asked, leaning against the doorway of Neal’s room at Granny’s. 

“Tomorrow,” he answered, his voice muffled from under the bed. “Goddamn it! I can’t find it anywhere!”

“Did you check your closet?” Emma asked, pulling out her phone.

“No.”

“I’m going to check your closet,” she said, still frowning at her screen as she walked over to the closet to search for Neal’s scarf. “Oh, my God, Mom, really?” she muttered, reading Snow’s text:

_How’s your date with Neal? Squeal! :))))_

“What is it?” Neal asked, still rummaging under his bed. 

“My mom. She’s being obnoxious,” Emma said, grimacing as she typed back: _Mom, seriously, you’re being creepy. Stop texting me._ She exhaled, putting her phone back in his her pocket to start going through his closet for the scarf. 

The _green_ one. The _dark green_ one, that had kind of an olive-tone to it? You know, he wore it with the black coat the other day? She remembered, right? Well, he couldn't find it, so could she help him look before they went out? Thanks.

“Neal, you’ve got, like, six different scarves. What does it matter if _one_ is missing?”

“I like scarves,” he said, emerging from under the bed. “If you’re allowed to love boots, I’m allowed to love scarves.”

“You never used to wear scarves,” she said, sitting back on her heels as she tossed a few shoes aside. “When did that start happening?”

“When I became a grown-up,” Neal said, walking into the closet and kneeling down to sift through a few fallen sweaters. 

“I must have missed that,” Emma frowned. “Mr.-Still-Bragging-About-His-High-Score-On-Zombiepocolypse.”

“Miss-Still-Mad-About-My-High-Score-On-Zombiepocolypse,” Neal snorted, tossing the sweaters aside. “All right, forget it. I’ll just wear a different one.”

“It’s probably at your dad’s place,” Emma said, pushing herself to a stand, her knees cracking. “I’m sure Belle will find it in a cupboard or something, and call you up and say, ‘Uh, Neal? I think I found your scarf, crikey! Well, I’ve got to put some shrimp on the barbie and hunt a kangaroo!’”

“You really do the worst Australian accent,” Neal told her as she walked over to sit on the edge of the bed to wait for him. “I mean, that is really pathetic, Em.”

“Care face,” Emma replied, laying back. She stared up at the ceiling, twirling her necklace. “So…was it Tamara, then?”

There was a pause, then a deep sigh as Neal slowly walked over, wrapping a blue scarf around his neck, and settled on the bed beside her. “I know I’m going to kick myself for asking, but was _what_ Tamara?”

“The scarf thing. The ‘being a grown-up’ thing,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Was that her?”

“No, I met her _after_ I became a grown-up,” Neal said, looking down at her with raised eyebrows. “Let’s see, she started manipulating me and executing her evil plan about…oh, I’d say a year and a half before you found me in New York. And about a year and a half and a couple weeks before that crazy bitch shot me. Do you hear what I’m saying here?”

“No, I know,” Emma said, keeping her eyes fixed on the little silver swan hanging off her chain. “It’s just…”

“ _What’s_ just?”

Emma shrugged dismissively. “Never mind. Doesn't matter.”

“Oh, don’t do that thing,” Neal groaned.

“I’m not doing a thing!” 

“Yes, you are. You’re doing that thing where you pretend like you _don't_ want to talk about it, but you’re still twirling the necklace, so I know that we actually _have_ to talk about it because you’re still upset—“

“Neal, this isn't a thing I do. I don’t know what you’re talking about—“

“ _Emma, come on—_ “

“What ‘come on’? I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Em—“ Neal said exasperatedly. “You can tell me anything.”

Emma sat up, leaning on her elbows, a small smile on her face. “I can?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, of course you can.”

Emma bit her lip. “Neal?”

“Hmm?”

“I really don’t want to help you look for your scarf ever again.”

Neal looked at her for a long time, his eyes serious. “You bitch, you just broke my heart.”

“Shut up,” Emma snorted, hitting him in the arm. 

“Okay, but seriously,” Neal said, catching her hand. “What’s going on? Why are you asking me about Tamara?”

Emma tried to tug her hand away, going so far as to make a soft whining sound and flopping back on the bed like a child, but Neal didn't let her hand or the issue go.

“Why are you asking me about Tamara?” he repeated. 

Emma exhaled heavily, turning her head to the side. “Jesus, Neal, I don't know…”

That was a lie. Emma could hear it in her own voice, inwardly wincing at how lame it sounded; and Neal didn't need her superpower to figure it out.

“You _do_ know, you just don't want to tell me because you know I hate talking about stuff.”

“So do I,” she sighed, pushing herself up. “So can we just forget it? I don't want to spoil the night with this.”

Neal gave her an impatient look. “Emma—“

They both jumped as something slammed against the wall, making the dresser rattle dangerously.

“Damn it, Ruby!” Hook’s voice shouted, muffled through the wall. “That bloody _hurt!_ ”

“What the hell was that?” Emma asked, wide-eyed.

“Picture frame,” Neal grimaced, pulling her up to a stand. “Come on, let’s go grab a coffee or something.”

“Picture frame?” Emma repeated wonderingly, allowing him to tug her out of the room.

“Floor hockey.”

“ _Oh…”_

Ashley was working the counter downstairs, pouring coffee and shots with a friendly smile on her face. “Hey, guys,” she said as they stopped in front of her. “What can I get you?”

“Uh—two coffees,” Neal said, blinking at her cheerful tone. Emma nudged him, raising her eyebrows.

 _Is she freaking_ you _out, too?_

 _Oh, yeah,_ he mouthed back, nodding assuredly.

Emma didn't particularly care for Ashley, but she had to admit: she was a far better serve than Ruby. She got them their drinks promptly and with a smile; she didn't make it obvious how much she was judging them, or how little she wanted to be there; and she didn't absently flirt with Neal while she snapped the lids over their cups, which Emma appreciated more than she could say.

“Have a good night,” Ashley said, handing them their cups.

“Thanks…” Emma said, exchanging another look with Neal. _Seriously freaked out right now._

_Me, too._

They walked out of the diner in silence, but as soon as they stepped into the cold December air, Emma burst out, _“_ What the _hell?_ ”

“Right?” Neal said in awe. “And—what was that weird thing she was doing with her face? Where she was showing us her teeth?”

“I think that’s _smiling,_ ” Emma said in a hushed tone. “I didn't know waitresses were allowed to do that.”

“Unless…” Neal turned to her with wide eyes, gasping mockingly. “Is it possible that _Ruby’s not a good waitress?”_

“Shh!” Emma said scandalously. “They’ll stone you for such blasphemy!”

Neal laughed into his cup as they walked across the street and started walking along the sidewalk. 

“So what’s the deal with Hook and Ruby?” Emma asked, holding out her arms to balance herself as she walked the sidewalk ledge. “I thought they were supposed to be taking things slow.”

“They are,” Neal shrugged, walking beside her on the edge of the street. 

“They only got back together a few days ago, and they’re already going at it,” Emma frowned, wobbling a little on the ledge. “That doesn't seem very slow.”

“It is for them,” Neal snorted. “At least they waited ’til _after_ the date this time.”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “ _Dude—“_

“I have the room next to him,” Neal reminded her, putting out his hand to steady her as she teetered dangerously. “And the walls aren't that thick.”

“Okay, enough said. Actually, _really_ enough said, can we please change the subject?”

“Yeah, how about we talk about why you brought up Tamara?”

Emma blinked a few times. “So, Hook and Ruby—“

“Emma.” Neal took her arm, forcing her to stop and look at him. “You wouldn't have said anything if it wasn't bothering you.”

“No, it’s…” Emma sighed, looking helplessly up at the night sky. “It’s stupid.”

“I’m sure it is,” he shrugged. “Come on.”

Emma looked at him for a long time, then slowly blew out a reluctant breath. “Okay, you know how my mom was texting me earlier?”

Neal nodded, taking a sip of coffee. 

“She’s always sending me texts like this, whenever we hang out.” Emma pulled out her phone, scrolling through her conversations with Snow to show him. “Look at this— _How’s your date?…Are you guys going somewhere special?….How’s it going? Squeal!…_ ”

Neal took her phone, raising an eyebrow as he skimmed through them. “Okay, so they’re a little obnoxious…and creepy,” he admitted, handing it back to her. “But I don’t see what this has to do with Tamara.”

“It’s just…” Emma shifted between her feet uncomfortably. “You know, this is great and everything, this whole—“she pointed between them—“you and me thing, but…”

“But?” he prodded, raising his eyebrows.

“I feel like we’re not—“ Emma made a face, waving her hands. “We’re not _grown-ups,_ you know?”

“We have a fifteen-year-old kid,” Neal scoffed. “That’s not grown-up enough for you?”

“I know we’re _technically_ grown-ups, but we don't act like it. I mean, our fanciest date was eating pizza at your dad’s house.” Emma looked at him helplessly. “It’s like, we’re not taking this seriously.”

“I _am_ taking it seriously,” Neal said. 

“Yeah, but—“ Emma shut her eyes exasperatedly. “You’re telling me you didn't go on actual dates and stuff with Tamara? Like to restaurants and parties and shit? I mean, you guys were _engaged,_ you’re telling me you pulled that off by hanging out in front of the T.V. at home?”

Neal frowned, trying to sift through her questions. “So, you’re upset because you think I took things with Tamara more seriously than I am with you? Because we’re not part of the fancy restaurant scene?”

“Kinda…” Emma concentrated on poking her finger through a hole in her glove. 

Neal was quiet for a moment. “I just didn't know you were into that,” he said finally. “I thought things were going well.”

“They _are_ going well,” Emma said, looking up. “It’s just—that’s what couples do. Sometimes they go to fancy restaurants, sometimes they go to parties together…You know, they’re _out in public._ Acting like a couple in front of other people. My mom—“she listlessly held up her phone—“she just assumes we’re doing stuff like that, because that’s what an actual couple does. And I always have to tell her, _Not this time, Mom,_ or _Stop being creepy, Mom.”_

“Okay…” Neal said, frowning thoughtfully. “So basically you’re saying, you want to do more couple-y things.”

Emma blinked, a little taken aback. “Well—yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I want to do more couple-y things.”

“Because you want to feel like we’re an actual couple.”

“Yeah.”

“Because knowing I did all that stuff with Tamara makes you insecure.”

“Yeah, you want to write a book on it? Christ, Neal…”

“No, no, no,” he said reassuringly, holding up his hand. “I’m just trying to understand.”

Emma kicked the toe of her boots against the ground, feeling rather embarrassed. “Am I being a whiny girlfriend?” she asked grimly. 

Neal sighed good-naturedly, taking her hand as they continued walking. “You’re not being a whiny girlfriend…”

“For reals?”

“For reals, Em. You’re not being a whiny girlfriend.” 

They walked in comfortable silence, shoulders bumping every so often, Neal swinging their interlocked hands together obnoxiously high. 

“Okay, he said after a while. “You want to go to a fancy restaurant with me on Friday?”

Emma shrugged. “Whatever. I mean, if you’re into that—“

“Emma…”

“Yeah, okay.”

 


	44. Chapter 44

 

 

Henry leaned over to peer into the well, his fingers numbing against the cold stone. Last time, it had taken a few minutes for something to happen, so he waited. _Come on,_ he thought impatiently. _Do something._

But ten minutes later, he still only saw the dark, empty depths of the well: no colored smoke no clouds of glittering dust—no magic. 

_Goddamn it._

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he sighed, straightening up. “I still can’t wake it up. I don’t know what I did last time.”

Regina frowned, putting her hands on her hips as she circled the well. “What if we dump the ashes of the heart in there? Maybe it needs something to feed on, something to resurrect to wake up properly.”

“Yeah, but if it doesn't work, we lose the ashes and I don’t have anything to bring your mom back with.” Henry shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to warm his fingers. “We should ask Grandpa to take a look, see if he can figure it out.”

“I guess,” Regina grimaced, coming to a stop beside him. She exhaled through her teeth frustratedly. “Shit. I really thought it was going to work this time.”

“I’m sorry,” Henry said, shrugging apologetically. 

“No, it’s okay,” Regina said absently, putting an arm around his shoulder as they started to make their way back to the main road. “Maybe it’s for the best right now. God knows I’ve got enough to worry about…”

Henry frowned. “Something wrong?” 

“No…” Regina shook her head slowly, her eyes vague. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Is something going on?”

Regina didn't answer; she just kept walking, her boots crunching against the frozen grass. 

“Mom?”

“Just…let’s get into the car first.”

Henry’s heart thudded. She’d said nothing was wrong, but something _had_ to be wrong, or she wouldn't have waited to tell him. Why couldn't she just tell him _now?_ Why did she have to have until they got in the car? That gave him _way_ too much time to start imagining all the possible tragedies.

His heart beat more rapidly when they reached the car; he opened the door with shaking fingers, struggling to keep his grip on the handle as he slammed it shut. Regina got in more slowly, almost reluctantly. She carefully closed her door, then reached over for her seatbelt. Henry drummed his fingers impatiently on the armrest, waiting for her to secure it.

Regina took her time, carefully clicking it closed, and straightened the belt so it didn't wrinkle her coat. She took a deep breath, looking straight ahead. 

“Henry…” Her voice was faint, trembling slightly; she cleared her throat to steady it. “Henry.”

“Mom?”

Regina inhaled deeply, and slowly exhaled. “You know how I’ve been sick lately?”

Henry blinked rapidly, his anxiety rising. “Are you okay?” he asked, his heart pounding. “Is it serious?”

“Yes, and…yes.” Regina frowned, struggling to find her words. “I went to see Dr. Whale the other day, and he told me…”

 _He told you…?_ Henry waved his hands impatiently, motioning her to go on. “Yeah?”

Regina turned to him, smiling tightly. “Want a little brother?”

For a minute, all Henry could do was stare at her. 

 _Want a little brother?_ echoed in his head, and he was suddenly bombarded by barrage of images: crying babies, jars of baby food, baby singlets, tiny socks, bottles and strollers, rattles and teddy bears, baby bibs and blankets…Henry caught his breath, swallowing hard.

“Uh…o-okay,” he said, blinking at her with wide eyes. 

Regina almost smiled, but it slipped from her face. “I didn't tell Robin yet.”

Henry’s eyebrows shot up. “Um—you should probably get on that.”

“I know,” she sighed, her shoulders sagging. Henry tilted his head, trying to get a better look at her expression. 

“You okay?”

“I’m…yeah, I’m okay?”

“Are you scared?”

“Slightly terrified, but I’m fine.”

“Are you happy?”

Regina looked up, raising her eyebrows. “Am I happy?”

“That you’re…you know. Are you happy about it?”

Regina looked at him for a long time, then slowly nodded her head. “Yeah.”

Henry smiled. “Okay. Me, too.”

 

* * *

 

“Robin?”

“Hmm?”

“I need to tell you something.”

Robin’s brow twitched, but he wiped his mouth and tossed the crumpled napkin on his plate, pushing it away. “Okay,” he said, leaning his elbows on the table. “What’s up?”

They were at Granny’s, suffering through yet another lunch of bad ham sandwiches and Caesar salad. Regina had dropped Henry off with his grandparents an hour ago, so they and Emma and Neal could all go to the airport to pick up Belle and Rumple. Neal had asked Regina if she wanted to come, since it was a… _family_ outing, but she’d declined in favor of taking advantage of the privacy to tell Robin the Big News. 

She was still trying to wrap her own head around it: it had been several days, and the numb, dazed feeling was only just now starting to wear off. Now, she felt…well, pretty much everything. Scared, obviously; worried, over how Robin was going to react; a little ecstatic, because she’d always wanted a child of her own and she never thought she’d have one.

But mostly overwhelmed. 

Emma and Dr. Whale had both assured her was normal for a new mother, but it did nothing to abate the feeling. Regina had barely slept for the past four days, thinking about it. She’d asked them both to keep quiet about it—she wasn't ready to tell people, not when she was still processing it herself. She knew she would _have_ to, at _some_ point, but she really wasn't looking forward to that. Telling Henry was one thing: she wasn't going to have to worry about him coming up to congratulate her three times a day (David) or asking to speak to the baby (Snow) or suggesting she name the baby “Killian” for a boy and “Jillian” for a girl (Captain  Slutty McSkankFace). Telling everyone else was nerve-wracking. People were going to get _emotional_ , they were going to _hug_ her, they were going to be all excited and start poking their noses even further into her business… Maybe if she took them all out to dinner one day, made an announcement, got it all out of the way in one fell swoop…

“Regina?” Robin waved his hand in front of her face. “Are you all right?”

“Um—“ Regina shook her head, snapping back to reality. “Yeah. Sorry, it’s just—“ she looked up at him nervously—“it’s a little life-changing.”

Robin blinked, stiffening in his chair. “Okay.”

Regina took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching her fists nervously.”I haven't been feeling great lately.”

“Right…” Robin said slowly. 

“So, I, uh…I went to the doctor.”

“Yeah…”

“And, uh…” Regina blew out her breath. “I’m pregnant-ish.”

“Wait—“ Robin frowned, shaking his head. “What does that mean, _pregnant-ish?_ Are you still waiting for the results, or something?”

“N-no, I know the results.” Regina looked up at him, smiling briskly. “I’m definitely, you know—“ she jutted her head—“‘ _spectin’.”_

The blood drained from Robin’s face. “You are?”

Regina nodded.

“Y-you—?” Robin’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God,” he said, his voice high and shaky. “ He was _right?_ ”

Regina frowned. “ _Who_ was right?” she demanded, feeling her temper rise. Did someone know? Did Emma blab? Did she tell Neal? _Did she tell Neal?_ Goddamn it, Emma! She was going to rip every last blonde hair out of that thick skull! “You better talk fast, Robin, I need to start plotting Emma’s murder.”

“Emma?” Robin repeated confusedly. “What are you talking about?”

“She told Neal, and he told you—“

“No, no, no, _Hook_ said—“ Robin rubbed his eyes anxiously—“we were just hanging out, and Hook randomly said he thought you might be…might be…”

“Here, take a drink of water,” Regina said concernedly as he started to hyperventilate. “Robin—“ she slid out her seat and into the booth next to him, reassuringly rubbing circles on his back. “Robin, relax.”

“I-I-I—“ he buried his face in his hands. “I’m very happy!” he cried in a muffled voice. “But I’m kind of freaking out right now!”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Regina bit back a smile, watching him sob into his hands. “So you’re happy?”

He nodded emphatically, sniffing loudly as he lifted his head. “Are you?” he asked, hiccuping. “I’m sorry, I’m so emotional right now…I was the same way about Roland, Marian always told me I was the girl in our relationship—“

“It’s all right,” Regina laughed, pulling him into a hug. “Yeah, I’m happy. I mean, a little concerned, I think you should take a couple Xanax right now, but yeah—I’m happy.”

“Who all knows?” Robin asked, his voice muffled against her shoulder. “Because I don’t think we should tell Hook, he’ll start calling himself ‘Dr. Jones’ again.”

“Hmm,” Regina snorted. “Well, I hate to tell you, Robin, but I think even _he_ is going to be able to figure it out, sooner or later.”

“Pity,” Robin said, wiping his eyes as they broke apart. “So, who knows?”

“Well, you, obviously. Dr. Whale. Emma. Henry. And that’s it.” Regina pointed a finger at him. “Don’t go blabbing, okay? I don't want Snow randomly coming up to me and shoving baby books in my hands. I want to make an official announcement and talk rules.”

“Rules?” Robin repeated, dabbing his eyes.

“Yes, rules. Like—“ Regina waved her hands. “For instance, one of our rules is, you’re not allowed to say, ‘we’re pregnant’. It’s just a really weird, creepy thing to say—and I’m making an executive decision right now that you can’t use that phrase.”

“Understood.”

“Good. Now, rule number two…”

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you see them yet?” Emma asked, standing on her tiptoes. 

“Like we’re going to be able to see them through all this,” Henry said, gesturing at the thick crowd with his Cinnabon. “They’re, like, four feet tall.”

“Henry,” Snow scolded absently, scrolling through her phone.

“What?”

“You know what? I’m just gonna—” Emma climbed up to stand on the chair behind her and Neal, which did very little for her vantage point. “Okay, I still can’t see them.”

Neal leaned his head back to look up at her. “You didn’t think that was actually going to accomplish something?”

Emma put her hand over his mouth, still squinting through the crowd. “Don’t sass me.”

David looked at them for a minute and sighed inwardly, feeling very much invisible and lonely. He had been sitting there for the better part of an hour in almost complete silence.

He didn't trust himself to talk to Snow, because she knew him too well for him to keep a secret from her: Regina had made him swear not to say anything about her visit to Dr. Whale, especially since if Snow found out, the entire town would, too ten minutes later. The woman couldn't keep a secret if her life depended on it. 

Emma must have known about Regina, since she’d gone _with_ her, so she would have been safe to talk to…if she and Neal weren't too busy being a couple. It didn't _thrill_ David, but at least they weren't being obnoxious about it—which was more than he could say for _some_ people (cough, cough, Hook and Ruby).

Yes, _some people_ had tagged along at the last second because Hook wanted to see Belle when she got off the plane; while they waited, they insisted on being the World’s Most Obnoxious Couple. A _million thousand_ times worse than Emma and Neal, the whole airport agreed. David didn't mind in the slightest that he couldn't talk to them: actually, right now, he was doing his best to ignore them. He almost broke into applause when Ruby excused herself to find a coffee stand.

Henry had spent the entire time _looking_ for a Cinnabon, _finding_ a Cinnabon, _tweeting_ about his Cinnabon, and staring vacantly into the distance while he _ate_ his Cinnabon. He had a strange, distracted way about him today, as if his mind was elsewhere. Which was weird, because he’d been fine that morning. Perhaps something had happened when he went with Regina to the well…

“There they are!” Emma said suddenly, flinging her arm to point them out. “Look!”

David rose in his seat as a jet-lagged-looking Belle and Rumple walked up, dragging suitcases behind them. 

“Belle!” Hook exclaimed, running past David to wrap her into a hug. Rumple was too distracted with hugging Neal and Henry and offering Emma a polite smile to pay attention. 

David looked on with a smile, his hands in his pocket as he slowly drifted over to join the group. Rumple had moved on from hugging to hair-ruffling, while Belle and Hook broke apart, allowing David to enter their little circle.

“Here, I got you something!” Belle said excitedly to Hook, rummaging in her bag. 

“Did you get me a present?” Hook said with a greedy smile. He elbowed David. “Did _you_ get a present, mate?”

David smiled back blandly. “Just the gift of you. In my house. At six o’clock this morning.”

“Ruby’s gran is trying to run me out of the inn, and she won’t serve me coffee,” Hook explained in response to Belle’s raised eyebrows. “And David is _usually—“_ he gave David a disparaging look—“a good sport about making coffee, but today—“

“Breaking and entering is a crime,” David said over him. “It doesn't matter if all you want is coffee, you _can't do that._ ”

Hook rolled his eyes, as if the idea of breaking and entering being considered offensive was utterly absurd. “What’d you get me?” he said to Belle, leaning forward to peer into her bag. “It’s not a T-shirt, is it?”

Belle grinned. “Not a T-shirt…”

Hook eyed her warily. “You’re making me nervous.”

Belle only smiled wider as she fished an  _I Love New York!_ beanie hat. “Ta da!”

Hook frowned at it, drawing back. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s a hat,” David laughed, taking it from Belle to tug it on Hook’s head. “ _Aww…”_

“Oh. My. _God.”_ Neal came toward them, a disbelieving smile on his face as he took in Hook and his new hat. Hook glowered at him, putting up a threatening finger.

“Neal, I don’t want to hear a _word—_ “

“Emma! Emma, Emma, Emma, look!” 

“Look at—? _Oh, my God!_ ” Emma burst into laughter, bending over and holding her stomach. Neal laughed harder, hanging helplessly off David’s shoulder as Hook rounded on Belle, accusing her of actively trying to humiliate him.

“I thought it was cute!” Belle said, struggling to keep a straight face herself. “Rumple found it.”

“Of course he did,” Hook growled, giving him a dark look as Rumple cheerfully waved at him. Henry took another bite of his Cinnabon, holding up his phone to take a picture.

“That’s going on Twitter,” he said, his thumb working the keyboard as he posted it. Hook immediately stepped forward, prepared to snatch the phone out of his hand, but Belle grabbed his arm.

“Hook, come on—I have your real present right here,” she said, giving her bag a little shake. “Come on, come back.” 

Hook glared at Henry, but he allowed Belle to pull him back. He didn't take his eyes off Henry as he stuck out his hand for his gift. Henry stared back blandly, taking another bite of his Cinnabon while Belle fished around in her bag and brought out a snow globe with a tiny Manhattan inside it.

“Look,” she said, turning it upside down and shaking it to make it snow. “I wanted you to see Christmas in New York, and since you couldn't come…”

Hook’s eyes softened as he looked at the snow globe, the little smile on his face growing. “Aww, _Belle…_ ”

Belle shrugged, smiling widely nonetheless. “I saw it, and I thought of…” She trailed off, her eyes catching on something behind David: Ruby, carrying two trays of coffee cups. “You,” Belle finished, pursing her lips as Ruby joined the group, holding out the trays.

“Welcome back,” she said, smiling somewhat shyly at Rumple. “You want a coffee?”

“Thank you, dearie,” Rumple smiled, taking one of the cups. Ruby nodded, and got on with passing coffee around.

“Thanks, Ruby,” David said when she came up to him, lifting one off the tray. She smiled, waving her hand dismissively, and held the last two coffees out to Hook and Belle.

“Thanks,” Belle said grudgingly.

“What are you doing, fetching coffee for people?” Hook said, taking it anyway. “You don’t have to be a waitress every hour of the day.”

“I don’t mind,” she shrugged cheerfully. “I feel Christmas-y today.” Her eyes traveled upward, resting on the New York beanie. “I like your hat,” she grinned, tugging at it. 

“What? Oh.” Hook grimaced, pulling it off his head. “Belle got it for me as a joke, I don’t really—“

“Nonsense!” Ruby said brightly, cramming it back on his head. “Come on, it’s cute!”

“That’s what Belle said,” Hook said irritably. 

“She was right,” David grinned. “You’re absolutely precious.”

“Shut up, David.” 

“I’m serious. You’re, like, baby-farm-animal-adorable right now. You and your little hat…”

“Shut _up,_ David.”

“Almost as cute as tiny casseroles,” Emma grinned, elbowing Neal.

“Which are made cute based on their tininess,” he smiled.

“ _There_ you go.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Belle frowned. “Tiny casseroles?”

Neal rolled his eyes. “Emma makes me order all these pizza toppings, and picks them off…”

David stopped listening: he didn't want to hear _anything_ about Emma’s dates with Neal, not a single thing. Snow could squeal and be delighted all she wanted, but David was not going to let himself think about the fact that his baby girl was actually a grown woman, in a relationship, and those were all the details he could handle right now, thank you. 

“So,” he said, turning to Rumple (who was looking pointedly at Emma and Neal). “You want me to help you get those bags out to the car?”

“Hmm?“ Rumple looked up. “Oh, bags! Right. Uh, actually, we can’t leave just yet…We’re waiting on someone.”

“Who?” Snow frowned, finally look up from her phone. David glanced over her shoulder, skimming her texts to Mulan…and Aurora…and Phillip, goddamn it, Snow, _why?_

 _“_ Just some people we met in New York,” Rumple said evasively. “Some old friends of mine.”

“You had friends?” Neal said, raising an eyebrow. Rumple turned to him with a tight smile.

“I’m sorry…didn’t I tell you about that? I feel ashamed, I shouldn't have concealed—ahem— _such an important part of my life from you._ ” 

Neal blinked, slowly turning his head to exchange a confused glance with David. _What was that?_ he mouthed. David shrugged. Who knew with Rumple? He was such a weird guy.

“Shall we find a table?” Rumple picked up the handle of his bag without waiting for an answer, wheeling it to the little cafeteria area. Belle swiveled her head around, startled.

“Rumple?”

“Finding a table while we wait!” he called back, not turning around. Belle turned back to the rest of the group, and shrugged, picking up her own bag and following him. 

Everyone crowded around one of the cheap, circular tables with their coffees, making themselves as comfortable as they could in the plastic chairs. Naturally, David got stuck sitting across from Neal and Emma, with Ruby and Hook on his left, and a bored Henry on his right. Because that was David’s life. And it was really starting to take a toll on his Christmas spirit today.

Snow had excused herself to stand in the corner, jabbering away on her phone. He didn't know if she was talking to Mulan, Phillip, or Aurora, but he would have bet his last dollar she was doing _something_ meddling. 

“Dad, seriously, what’s your problem?” Neal said, leaning across the table. Rumple shrugged, tracing his finger along the brim of his cup.

“There’s no problem.”

“You’re acting weird.”

“And you keep glaring at me when you think I’m not looking,” Emma added. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, dear,” Rumple said, smiling through clenched teeth. 

“You don’t seem fine, mate,” Hook said. 

“I don’t recall _asking_ you, mate.”

“ _Don’t_ call him ‘mate’ back,” Ruby said suddenly to Hook. “I don’t want a repeat of Robin from the other day.” She leaned in toward David and explained in a loud whisper, “They got into this weird thing where they kept calling each other ‘mate’.”

“Yeah, that happens, sometimes,” David frowned. Hook and Robin didn't argue often, but when they did, they had a peculiar habit of emphasizing the word “mate”. Constantly. Like they had to remind the other that they really weren't mates at the moment.

“Did I _do_ something?” Neal pressed. 

“No, Neal. You didn’t do _anything.”_ Rumple smiled humorlessly. “Nothing at all.”

Neal tightened his jaw, looking rather irritated now. “Really?” he said jerkily. “‘Cause you’re kinda acting like I did.”

“Well, you didn’t,” Rumple shot back.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes. I’m _sure about that._ ”

“You know something? You _always_ do this—“

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Belle said loudly. “He’s just pouting because you didn't tell him about you and Emma dating.”

Rumple folded his arms and looked away as Neal’s jaw dropped.

 _“That’s_ what you’re mad about? Are you _serious?_ ”

“Why wouldn't you _tell_ me?” Rumple whined. “I’m your father, I should know about these things! If my baby boy is—”

“Dad!” Neal wailed in exasperation, bringing his hands to his face. Emma and Hook exchanged a look of pure delight at the phrase “baby boy”. 

“Did you hear that, Emma?”

“About Neal being his baby boy?”

“That’s the one!”

“Isn’t it sweet?”

“I’m _melting_!”

“Oh, shut up, _Killy!_ ” Neal snapped, dropping his hands.

“Or what?” Hook grinned. 

“Or I’ll tell Ruby about your deal with Robin.”

“What deal with Robin?” Ruby asked immediately, looking between the two of them.

“Neal!” Hook gasped, sounding betrayed. “How could you do this to me? What happened to ‘bros before ho’s’?”

“Does that still apply, when said bro _is_ a ho?” David frowned. 

“Shut _up,_ David!”

“What deal?” Ruby insisted. “And don’t call me a ‘ho’.”

“I don’t think you’re a ‘ho’,” Hook assured her.

“I do,” Belle muttered.

“But what deal with Robin?”

“Ruby, love—“ Hook gave her a tight smile. “It’s nothing. I promise.”

Ruby knit her brow, looking worried. “What’s nothing?”

Hook closed his eyes, exhaling tiredly. “Ruby…”

“You keep avoiding the question, it’s making me nervous,” she said pleadingly. “I feel like that means it’s something bad.”

“It’s not bad!” Hook said, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “It’s embarrassing!”

“More embarrassing than being Rumple’s baby boy?” Emma said, grinning at Neal.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Rumple frowned. Emma’s smiled faded.

“Nothing.”

“Sounds like it means _something._ ”

“No, it’s…I was kidding—“

“Kidding. Right.”

“Dad, she was just kidding, don't jump down her throat.”

“Yeah, I was just kidding don’t jump down my throat.”

“Miss Swan, if you think I’m just going to—“

“Okay, everybody shut up!” David said loudly, holding up his hands. “Stop fighting, okay? We’re in the airport, in a _public_ place—we can’t do this now.”

“I couldn't agree more, darling,” a sultry voice said behind him.

David whipped around, his eyes landing on a very peculiar trio of women: one was a thin, glamorous woman with dramatic make-up and a ridiculous fur coat; the second was a mocha-skinned, intimidating woman wearing a power suit; and the third was a young, plainly-dressed brunette who looked like she could punch a hole through Superman’s chest if provoked. 

“Bloody hell,” Hook whispered, the blood draining from his face as he stared at the woman in the power suit. 

“Preach,” Emma breathed, her wide eyes fixed on the brunette’s wrist.

Rumple stood up awkwardly, a nervous smile on his face. “Cruella, Ursula, Lily…this is my family. And Ruby with her pet man-whore. And everyone—“ he flopped his hand at the women. “These are my friends. They’re coming home with us.”

“Hello, darlings,” Cruella said, smiling around at them all. “It’s just _smashing_ to meet you all! Now, who gets to sit next to me on the car ride home?”

 


	45. Chapter 45

 

“Okay, so just go up there to the desk,” Neal said, pointing at Granny’s registration desk. “Ring the bell, and Granny will set you guys up with rooms.”

Cruella frowned, squinting through her opera spectacles. “Set us up with rooms?” she repeated disdainfully. “What does that even _mean,_ darling?”

Neal raised an eyebrow. “It means, she’ll show you where you can sleep and put your stuff.” How many other meanings could it possibly have?

“Hmm,” Cruella said, evidently unimpressed. “It’ll do in a pinch, I suppose. Ursula, darling, is that all the bags?”

“The prince is fetching the rest,” Ursula said dismissively, gliding over. Neal stifled a laugh at hearing her refer to David as “the prince”. “And Lily’s parking the car.”

“That horrible rental car,” Cruella sniffed. “She might as well park in a lake, _I’m_ never riding in it again.”

Neal raised his eyebrows. Cruella was a _very_ particular woman: he still had no idea who she was, other than an “old friend” of his dad’s, but he was quite confident that she knew she was a diva, and gloried in it. Which was okay, because Hook was his best friend, and the biggest diva he knew (now second to Cruella), so…meh, maybe she wouldn't be so bad.

“Okay, so—you guys good?” he asked, looking between the two of them. “Need anything? The diner’s literally right next door if you get hungry or—“

“Yes, thank you, darling,” Cruella said, holding up a dismissive hand. “You can leave now.”

“Oh…kay, then.” Neal swiveled slowly on his heel, and walked back to the entrance, where everyone was still crowded so they didn't have to wait outside in the cold.

 Christmas music softly played over the speakers, and Granny had brought out boxes of tinsel and wreaths to start decorating the diner and inn with (which Ruby eyed with utter loathing—probably since she usually had to hang it up). Despite the cheerful surroundings, Emma and Hook still looked as miserable and uncomfortable as they had since Cruella, Ursula, and Lily had shown up.

“Hey.” Neal stopped in front of them, frowning concernedly. “You guys okay?”

“Mmm…”

“…don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Why not?” Neal looked between the two of them, watching them shuffle their feet and avoid his gaze. “Guys, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Emma said, plastering a smile on her face. “We’re fine. We’re both fine. Are you fine? Of course, you’re fine. I’m fine, you’re fine, Hook’s fine—see? Everyone’s fine.”

Neal slowly raised his eyebrows, looking at her skeptically. “You don’t seem _fine,_ Em. You seem a little psychotic right now.”

“Oh, you—“ Emma forced a laugh, ruffling his hair. “Look at you being all concerned, that’s adorable.”

“So cute,” Hook agreed, joining in the hair-ruffling. “This guy…”

“Guys—“ Neal complained, leaning his head away—“get off.”

“You know, your hair is deceptively soft,” Hook frowned, allowing Neal to push his hand away. “Do you condition?”

“Do I condition?” Neal repeated, blinking at him incredulously. “Did you just ask me that?”

Hook shrugged defensively. 

“You know what?” Emma said suddenly. “I’m up for a coffee. You want a coffee? Let’s get a coffee. Come on—“ she took his hand, trying to tug him away, but Neal resisted.

“What’s wrong with you two? Why are you acting so weird?”

“I’m a weird guy, Neal,” Hook said exasperatedly. “Emma’s probably off her medication, but I’m just being my quirky self.”

“I’m not on medication!” Emma said indignantly. 

“I just _said_ that, love.”

“You know something—“

“Don’t fight,” Neal said quickly, pulling her back as she took a threatening step toward Hook. “Both of you, calm down. _Stop_ doing that with your faces,” he added, seeing them glare darkly at each other. “Ruby, come over here, would you? They’re going to start throwing punches in a minute.”

Ruby, who’d been hovering over the decoration boxes, sighed heavily and slumped over. “Hook,” she said half-heartedly, tugging his sleeve. “Come on. Let’s get a cup of coffee or something—“

“I can’t!” Hook said wildly, turning to her with wide eyes. “What if Ursula decides she wants a cup of coffee? And then we see her in the diner? And she sees _me_ in the diner?”

“So what?” Ruby said. “What do you care if Ursula sees you in the diner?”

“Because—“ Hook squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his fist frustratedly. “Because I know her, okay? I _know_ her.”

“You know her?”

“Yes, I know her!”

Ruby narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “ _How_ do you know her?” she said, folding her arms. “Old girlfriend, I’m assuming?”

“You’re assuming correctly,” Hook muttered with a grimace.

“Bad break-up?”

“The worst break-up.”

“Who dumped who?”

Hook looked at her carefully. “Well…there wasn't exactly any ‘dumping’ involved, as it were,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “I…abandoned her a little bit.”

Ruby’s eyebrows shot up. “You did what?”

“It was a long time ago, during my sea-faring days,” he explained. “I met her on a port, we had a little fun, and then I left and didn't tell her. That’s it, that’s the whole story.”

Ruby’s mouth fell open. “How could you do that?” she gasped. “Wh-what is _wrong_ with you?”

“ _Pirate._ ”

“Asshat! Jesus _Christ_ , Hook!”

“What?” he said defensively. 

“I can’t believe you did that!” Ruby said, throwing her hands up. “You just _left?_ ”

“Relax, love, I’m not going to do that to you. I’ll leave a note.” Hook’s smiled faded, seeing the ice in Ruby’s eyes. “Okay, so that was a _joke…_ that apparently came out wrong.”

“Very wrong.”

“Yeah, that was a dumb thing to say,” Emma scoffed. 

“Thank you, _Emma._ ”

“You’re welcome, _Hook._ ”

“Okay, you two!” Neal said, putting a hand on each of their shoulders to keep them apart. “No bloodshed today, let’s just keep everything civil. Ruby, you wanna…?” He gestured vaguely at Hook.

“No, I don’t _wanna,_ ” Ruby snapped, and rounded on Hook, smacking his arm. “Why would you say something like that?”

“Because I’m an asshat?” he suggested. 

“You _are_ an asshat.” Ruby’s glare softened as she took his hand, tugging him after her. “You can make up for it by helping me with these stupid decorations.”

“All right…”

Neal relaxed his hand on Emma’s shoulder as Ruby led Hook away, feeling reasonably confident she wasn't going to after him. They watched as Ruby knelt down and started tossing strands of fake holly berries and mini Christmas wreaths, Hook attempting to catch them with his hook as they flew over her shoulder. 

“They are dis _gust_ ingly cute sometimes,” Emma grimaced as Ruby stood up to throw tinsel in his hair, laughing as he tried to scrub it out. 

“I literally hate them so much right now,” Neal muttered back as Hook retaliated by scooping up a handful of tinsel to sprinkle over her. 

“ _God,_ ” Emma groaned. “Promise me you’ll never let us get that adorable, or we’ll have to punch _ourselves_ in the face.”

“Don’t want to do that,” Neal agreed. “I promise. D’you promise?”

“I promise,” she shrugged.

“Come on, let’s get out of here—they’re making me hate Christmas.”

Emma made a noise of agreement, following him as he excused himself past the others and out the door. “You want some coffee?” he asked, jutting his thumb at the diner entrance. Emma bit her lip anxiously, thinking.

“Okay—but first, make sure Lily’s not in there,” she said hastily. “I don't want to bump into her.”

Neal raised an eyebrow. “You ever gonna tell me what that’s about?”

“Neal, just—check, okay?” Emma said pleadingly, giving him a little push. 

“All right, all right…” He jogged up the steps, careful not to slip on the slightly iced pavement. Crowding his hands around the window to block out the light, he squinted through, scanning for any sign of Lily: no hazel brown hair…no ugly coat draped off a chair…no guy with a black eye running away in fear…

“You’re good,” he said, turning away from the window. “Come on, Em.”

Emma looked around furtively, as if still worried Lily might spring a surprise attack on her, and quickly darted up the steps. “Okay, inside!” she whispered, motioning him inside frantically. “Hurry!”

“Emma—!“ Neal began, stumbling as she quickly pushed him inside. He whirled around, looking at her wildly. “What _is_ it with you today? Why are you so jumpy?”

“What? Nothing. I’m fine.” Emma shifted her eyes around nervously. “Okay, I think we’re safe,” she muttered. “I don’t see her anywhere…”

Her eyes widened, catching something over his shoulder. “Oh… _shit!_ ”

“What—?”

“Don’t turn _around!_ ” she hissed urgently. “Look the other way! Pretend we’re not here!”

“Pretend we’re not here? What does that even _mean_? What do you want me to do, close my eyes and hope no one sees me?”

“Shut _up!_ She’d going to hear you!”

“Who’s going to hear me?”

“Lily, you moron! She’s here! She must have been in the bathroom or something!” Emma shook her head, her eyes panicked. “I should have thought of that! Damn it, Neal! You just _had_ to have coffee, didn't you?”

Neal stared at her incredulously. “What?”

“‘Let’s get a cuppa coffee, Em,’” she mimicked. “You always want to get a cup of coffee! You _look_ like coffee! Can you ever go one day without drinking a gallon of coffee? I mean, my God! You have an addiction, you know that? It’s a disease!”

“You know, you keep telling _me_ to shut up, but you’re the one announcing to the whole diner how much you disapprove of my beverage choices.”

“Shut _up,_ Neal!” she begged, but the damage was done: the sound of footsteps came toward them as Lily approached them from behind.

“Hey, guys…”

They turned around, plastering fake smiles on their faces.

“ _Hey—“_

 _“Hey,_ Lily…”

Lily raised her eyebrows, smiling as she looked between the two of them. “So, Emma,” she said, her eyes lingering on Neal. “You going to introduce to your friend, here?”

Neal immediately looked at Emma, clearing his throat. 

“Boyfriend,” Emma amended, glancing at Neal. “This is Neal. Henry’s dad.”

“Oh, right, your kid…” Lily frowned up at the ceiling with the mock effort of remembering. “Brown hair, about yea high, bad attitude?”

“That’s him,” Neal said with a humorless smile, thinking it was a bit rich of Lily to accuse anyone of having a bad attitude when she all but wore a sign around her neck that said, _Warning: Major Bitch Ahead._

“Ah…” Lily smiled back at him, her eyes traveling up and down disdainfully. “So, you’re the one who managed to sweep Emma the Dilemma off her feet.”

“Nobody ever called me that,” Emma frowned. 

“I wouldn't say, ‘swept off her feet’, but sure,” Neal said casually, liking Lily less and less by the second. “And who are you?”

Lily slyly flicked her eyes to Emma. “Let’s call me ‘an old friend’.”

“We were both foster kids,” Emma explained quietly. “Back in Minnesota, when I ran away…met her in a convenience store we were both trying to rip off, really nothing special.”

“No,” Lily agreed, though her eyes gleamed at Neal. “Nothing special.”

She smirked at Emma, ignoring Neal as she shouldered past him. “See you around, Emma.”

Emma carefully averted her gaze, looking at the plastic snowflakes Granny was pressing on the window. Neal frowned, his eyes following Lily out the door; she glanced back, giving him a sardonic smile, before she swung open the door and stepped out. 

“Okay, so—she’s kind of a bitch,” he decided, turning abruptly back to Emma. 

“Mmm-hmm,” Emma murmured, tearing her eyes away from the window. “You still want that coffee?”

“I get the feeling there’s a lot more to this Lily story,” he went on, walking with her to the counter. “She was, like…trying to snub me or something. I mean, what was tha—thanks, Ash,” he interrupted himself, taking the cup from her. “What was that about?”

“Tell you about it later,” Emma said into her cup. 

“You can’t tell me about it now?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because what?”

“Jesus, Neal, you’re as bad as Ruby!” Emma exclaimed. “What, you going to start throwing tinsel at me and calling me an ‘asshat’?”

“I’m just ask—“

“Tamara!” she burst out randomly.

“What?”

“I don’t know!” she wailed. “Can we just drink coffee and shut up for now? Please?”

Neal raised his eyebrows bemusedly. “You know, it’s a good thing you’re pretty, ‘cause you’re kind of insane.”

“I know,” she said tiredly. “I’ve made my peace with it.”

 


	46. Chapter 46

“Morning, Dr. Whale.”

“Morning, Regina.”

Regina pulled out the stool next to him, grimacing as she sat down. “My feet hurt,” she said in response to his raised eyebrows.

“Hmm,” he said into his cup. “Get used to it, that’s not going away anytime soon.”

 _Fantastic,_ Regina thought, flicking her hand up as Ashley brought around a fresh pot of coffee. Ashley gave her a friendly smile (which she didn’t return) as she poured her a cup. 

“Okay, now I _really_ have to go…”

“No, come on…”

Regina slowly lowered her cup as Ruby let out a giggle, exchanging a disdainful look with Whale.

“How’s that morning sickness coming along?” he asked in an undertone. 

“Stronger by the second,” Regina muttered. 

“Okay, seriously, I have to go now—“

“No, you don’t…“

“Yes, I— _stop!”_ Ruby smacked his arm playfully. “Hook, I’m serious, I have to go now.”

“I don’t think you do—“

“Hook, if  she has to go, she has to go,” Regina said tensely. Hook looked over, his smile fading to an irritated frown.

“I’m sorry, are we bothering you?”

“Yes, very much,” Whale said bluntly, holding his cup out for a refill. “Little more coffee, Ash?”

“Sure,” Ashley chirped, leaning across the counter to pour a stream of coffee in. “By the way,  Ruby—Granny’s looking for you, you better go.”

“Spare us the long farewell,” Regina said loudly, flinging up her hand to block the view of Ruby kissing Hook goodbye. “Some of us are trying to eat.”

“Some of us have already given up,” Whale grimaced, pushing his half-full plate away. 

Hook leaned against the counter to watch Ruby go, sighing contentedly. “Tell me she’s not the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“What happened to Jennifer Lopez?” Regina frowned. 

“Jennifer Lopez…” Hook mused. He furrowed his brow, sitting back in his seat. “I’m conflicted.”

“As am I,” Whale muttered. “Do I kill _them,_ or do I kill myself?”

“Be a hero—kill them.”

“What are you two going on about?” Hook said, scooting his stool closer to Regina to join the conversation. “You’re very whisper-y.”

“Trying to decide which wall I should mount your head on,” Regina said dryly, scooting away from him.

“Stop flirting with me, Regina, I’m spoken for,” Hook said, flicking his eyes upward. “What are you lot whispering about?”

“Actually, it really wasn't too far off from what she said,” Whale said. “You and Ruby make breakfast a really uncomfortable experience. I cut into a guy’s head last week, and I had an easier time keeping my food down.”

“Oh,” Hook said frostily. “Funny. I thought you might’ve been talking about _that_ —“ he looked meaningfully at Regina’s stomach.

Regina instantly drew back, putting a protective hand on her stomach. “Excuse me?”

Hook grinned at her fearfully wide eyes. “Oh, yeah, I know,” he assured her. “By the way, I’d appreciate it if the little minx didn't call me ‘Uncle Killy’, I really hate that name.” 

He _knew?_ For _reals?_ Robin had said he’d just been goofing off, being an asshole as usual, but he _knew?_ Did Emma tell him? Or did she tell Neal, and Neal tell him? Did _Whale_ tell him?

“How can you _know?_ ” Regina gasped. “Who told you?”

“Robin,” he said promptly. “He kept boring me and Neal with details about your illness…It wasn't hard to figure out.” Hook shook his head disapprovingly. “Frankly, Regina, I’m very hurt that you didn't tell me yourself, you and me being so close and all.”

“Oh, shut _up,_ ” Regina said witheringly, getting up from her stool. “ _Idiot._ ”

“Careful, love,” Hook warned. “You best be nice to me, unless you want me to run off and tell everybody. _Think_ of the rumors…”

“Are you threatening me?” Regina said, narrowing her eyes dangerously. “Are _you_ threatening _me?_ ”

“I am,” Hook said pleasantly.

Regina glared at him. “You’re even stupider than I thought, if you think this is a good idea.”

Hook responded by pulling out his phone and scrolling through the contacts. “Let’s see…” he drawled. “Who shall I tell first?”

“Don’t upset yourself, Regina,” Whale said, watching her carefully. “Think of the baby.”

“Yes, Regina,” Hook said, his eyes gleaming. “ _Think of the baby._ ”

Regina drew in a sharp breath, clenching her fists. She knew Dr. Whale was right, upsetting herself was useless: after all, the baby was infinitely more important than the snarky man-whore, she didn't want to waste her time or patience on him.

“You know what?” she said, smiling blandly. “Go ahead. Tell them. Saves me the trouble.”

“Fine, I will,” Hook shrugged, calling her bluff. “I might add something in about Robin not being the father…”

“Go ahead,” Regina repeated, folding her arms. “By all means, keep supplying me with more reasons to kill you. Motivation is important.”

“Mmm,” Hook agreed, unfazed.

“Or, I could just tell them on my own. Right now.”

Regina swung her purse strap around her shoulder, preparing to stalk out of the diner and drive to Snow and David’s loft—because once Snow knew, everyone else would know, and the whole thing would be over and done with. 

She had just turned the handle, the little bell ringing out, when a horribly familiar voice called out, “Regina! _Darling!_ ”

She froze, her eyes widening in horror. _No,_ she thought numbly. _It’s impossible. It couldn’t…It’s not her, no way._

“Do you remember us, darling?” Cruller’s stiletto heels clicked on the floor, followed by a pair of boots. A bony hand caught her shoulder, gently pulling her around to face the two glamorous women, both eyeing her with amused derision.

“Cruella,” Regina said coolly, inclining her head. “Ursula.”

She kept her demeanor calm and collected, but she was fuming. When did they get here? _How_ did they get here? What did they want? Why was she the last to know about this? Who else knew about this? How many people was she going to have to murder for hiding this from her? 

Did Neal know about this? He should have told her. Did Henry know about this? _He_ should have told her. Did Emma know about this? She should have _fucking told her!_ What about David and Snow? Belle and Rumple? Hook? Did _Hook_ know about this before her? 

She looked over Ursula’s shoulder at Hook, who was now frantically looking around for a hiding place or a newspaper to hide behind. She didn't know _why_ Hook was so desperate keep himself out of sight (which was a rare enough occurrence in and of itself), but she _did_ know that she could use it to her advantage.

 _That stupid slut,_ she smirked to herself. She _told_ him threatening her had been a bad idea.

“Hook, how nice to see you,” she said in a loud voice, waving at him. 

Cruella and Ursula exchanged a look, and Ursula excused herself to take Regina’s empty seat at the counter. Regina watched Hook plaster a nervous smile on his face, and smiled in satisfaction as Ursula narrowed her eyes, making the blood drain from his face. 

“ _So,_ ” Cruella said, regaining her attention. “I just heard the news. Congratulations on your little bundle of joy.”

Regina stared back at her icily. “Thank you.”

“Never thought I’d see the day when the _Evil Queen_ became a mother, but—“ Cruella flopped her hands helplessly. “I also never thought I’d see the day when the Dragon Queen became a mother, and yet—here Ursula and I are, raising sweet Lily as our own.”

Regina frowned. “I don’t know who Lily is, but I’ll have you know, I _am_ a mother. I have been for a long time. Fifteen years this January.”

Cruella’s smile flickered, her brow twitching in confusion. “Are you…? You’re not talking about that boy Henry, are you?”

“Yes.” Regina clasped one hand over her wrist. “Henry is my son. What do _you_ know about him?”

“I thought he was…?” Cruella frowned, putting her hands on her hips. “I thought he was Blondie’s son?”

“You mean, Emma?”

“Emma!” Cruella snapped her fingers. “Yes, of course! I thought he was Emma’s son.”

Regina raised her eyes to the ceiling, exhaling. _Here we go._ “Henry is my adopted son. Emma and Neal are his biological parents. Robin is his stepfather. And we all coparent together. Sometimes David and Snow help out, sometimes Rumple and Belle help out. But he was my son before anyone else’s, and I am still well-versed in dark magic, so if you think you’re getting anywhere near him—“

“Relax, darling!” Cruella said, holding up her hands. “I don’t know what you’ve heard—“

“Nothing, actually. No one told me a damn thing.”

“—but we have no intention of hurting Henry, we only need to borrow him for a little while.” Cruella looped her arm around Regina’s elbow, leading her to an empty table. “We’ve been working for a very long time trying to track you down and find out what happened to dear Mal—you remember Mal, of course?”

Regina shifted uncomfortably. “Of course,” she muttered. How could she forget? 

“I’m sorry!” Hook’s voice pleaded loudly. “Ursula, love—“

“Don’t ‘ _Ursula, love’_ me, Hook,” Ursula threatened. “Now, keep your voice down, you’re sucking all the Christmas spirit out of the place!”

Regina blinked, turning away from the scene. Oh. Of course. _That_ was how he knew her. 

“Anyways,” Cruella said, also losing interest in Hook. “Rumple told us about the boy’s unique talent, resurrecting lost souls and all that.”

“More like, breaking and entering my vault to steal random jars, but okay.”

“Well, we were just hoping to borrow him—just for a while, won’t take a minute—bring Mal back, and then have dear, sweet, darling Lily be reunited with her mother. We didn't think you’d mind—especially seeing as you’re the one responsible for separating them in the first place.”

“How do you figure?” Regina frowned, leaning her elbows on the table. 

“Your curse, darling,” she scoffed. “Mal had to send her through a portal to be safe from your wretched curse. Which was evidently a waste of time, since everyone here seems thoroughly _not_ cursed.”

“Well, my answer’s ‘no’,” Regina said flatly. “This town is going to be overrun with zombies at this rate, and I’m not going to let that happen. It was hard enough adjusting everyone to Graham—I’m not going make them worry about a bipolar dragon with sexual frustration running around, especially not with the holidays coming up.”

“You know, it’s funny,” Cruella said thoughtfully. “You’re saying one thing, but all I can hear is, _I don’t want Robin getting jealous over my ex-girlfriend._ “

“Speaking of ex-girlfriends,” Regina said dismissively, though he heart was now hammering violently in her chest. “What’s the deal with those two?” She jutted her head toward Hook and Ursula, who were now engaged in a whispered argument.

“Oh, you know—“ Cruella waved her hand carelessly. “Hell hath no fury like a sea bitch scorned.”

Regina raised her eyebrows. “Does Ursula know you talk about her like that?”

“Actually, I was referring to Hook,” Cruella said slyly. 

Regina twitched aa appreciative smile. Amidst all the hostility and threats, she’d forgotten how much she’d missed Cruella’s sassiness.

“Okay,” she said, sitting back in her seat. “Maybe we can discuss this Mal-thing a little more, after all.”

 


	47. Chapter 47

 

_Whatcha doing?_

Henry grinned, dropping his pencil to text Violet back: _Plotting to take over the world. You?_

He waited, watching Emma across the kitchen table abandon her paperwork as her phone _ping!_ ed with a text—probably Neal. 

Emma was working from home today: apparently, Graham was up to his eyes in paperwork, and since she and Neal and Hook couldn't be trusted to actually work when they were together, Graham had given Emma a stack of paper and sent her home. Hook was  (supposed to be) stuck at the station with Graham, but Neal had managed to trick him into thinking he was also working from home—even though he was _really_ out apartment-hunting with Belle and Rumple: he and Emma had been texting back and forth all day.

Henry, on the other hand, had been texting Violet for the better part of the last week. Nothing, really, just some harmless back-and-forth…which, he had to admit, was kind of the highlight of his day, lately. He was _surrounded_ by couples, left and right: it was a nice escape to be able to tune them out and talk to someone his own age in the hashtag, emoticon language that no one else in his family really understood. Actually, he’d been enjoying it so much, that he kinda forgot to feel upset about Hook and Ruby. Ruby was still cool and everything, but suddenly less interesting. 

_If you take over the world, can you change Burrito Friday to Pizza Friday?_

“That doesn’t sound like homework, Henry,” Emma said absently, hearing him laughingly scoff at Violet’s text. 

“You’re not doing paperwork,” he argued back. Emma put down her phone to look at him reproachfully.

“Henry,” she said, putting a hand to her heart. “I am texting your _father._ We are discussing your _future_. Is that not more important than—“ she waved her hand disgustedly at the papers—“ than _this?_ ”

“Right, okay…You’re discussing my _future…_ ”

“We are,” Emma insisted. 

Henry raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Okay, that, and whether or not cats have feelings.”

“ _There_ it is.”

“But come on!” she said pleadingly. “How can cats have feelings? All they do is sleep and hide under furniture!”

“Yeah, but so do little kids,” Henry pointed out. “And _they_ have feelings.”

“Of _course_ he agrees with Neal,” Emma muttered. “Big surprise.”

“I’m sorry, Mom, but I honestly think—“

Emma waved his words away. “Whatever, Henry.”

Henry rolled his eyes, his fingers rapidly pressing the the keyboard buttons as he texted Violet: _My parents are literally having an argument over whether or not cats have feelings. This is my life._

A minute passed, and then—

_Your parents are weird._

“Right?” he muttered, ready to type back when a hand suddenly snatched his phone out of his fingers. “Hey!”

“Mom!” Emma exclaimed as Snow snatched her phone up, too. “I was in the middle of—“

“You two aren't getting _anything_ done!” Snow scolded. “And you’re not getting these back until you’ve finished!”

“I was texting _Neal,_ ” Emma said deliberately. Everyone was well-aware of how much Snow approved of Neal; and since he and Emma had started dating again, her love had grown, if possible, stronger. 

But not strong enough to earn Emma her phone back. 

“You have a responsibility to this town,” Snow said sternly. “And Graham can’t handle this all by himself—the man just came back from the _dead_ a few weeks ago.”

“He can handle it,” Emma said confidently. “And besides, it’s just paperwork. Graham’s a perfectionist, that’s why he’s stressed out.”

“Regardless, you can’t keep texting Neal about—“ Snow frowned at the screen—“ _cats?_ ”

Emma looked down at her hands, somewhat embarrassed. “We got lost on a tangent,” she shrugged.

“And Henry, you’ve got way too much schoolwork to catch up on to be texting…who’s _Violet?_ ”

“Violet?” Emma frowned, her head snapping up. “Who the hell is Violet?”

“No one,” Henry said hastily. “My lab partner in Bio, we had a project—“

“This is a lot of texting for a lab partner,” Snow remarked, scrolling her thumb across the screen. Henry stood up, reaching for his phone.

“You can’t read my texts, Grandma!”

“ _‘My parents are literally arguing about cats. This is my life’,_ ” Snow read out, struggling to keep the phone away from him. “ _‘Your parents are weird’.”_

“We’re not weird!” Emma gasped, offended. “That bitch!”

“Henry, who is this girl?” Snow asked, giving up and handing him back his phone. Her eyes lit up, and she gasped. _“_ You _like_ her.”

“Oh, my God,” Henry said loudly, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “Why are you awkward?”

“Henry’s got a _girlfriend—_ “

“Stop saying that!” Emma said, covering her ears. She glowered at Henry’s phone. “She is _not_ his girlfriend. Right, Henry? _Right, Henry?_ ”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“There, you see?” Emma dropped her hands, still fuming. “Not his girlfriend.”

Snow shrugged, unconvinced. “Of course, she isn’t.”

“Does Regina know about this?” Emma demanded.

“There’s nothing to know—Mom, don’t!” he said as Emma reached for her phone. “Come on, she’s got enough on her mind without you bothering her about this.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” Emma scoffed. Henry frowned. Did she… _know?_

“I think I might,” he said carefully. Emma flicked her eyes upward derisively.

“Sure, you do,” she snorted. “I’d love to hear what you think constitutes as an adult-worry. Your biggest problem is trying to remember the quadratic formula.”

Henry raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, but that’s not Regina’s biggest worry. _I_ know what her biggest worry is.”

Emma looked over at him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You don’t _know._ ”

“Don’t I?” he challenged, lifting his chin. 

Snow looked between the two of them, her eyes alert. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Don’t worry about it, Mom,” Emma said, not taking her eyes off Henry. “I’m fairly confident _Henry_ doesn't know what we’re talking about.”

They continued to eye each other suspiciously. Snow looked down as Emma’s phone _ping!_ ed, and silently put it in Emma’s outstretched hand. Emma briefly broke eye contact to skim her text, slightly frowning.

“‘ _Go ahead and tell. Hook knows, and he’s threatening to tell everyone, anyway,”_ she read out, then glanced up at Henry. “Okay, what do you know?”

“I know that she’s going to get a lot of gift cards for Babies ‘R’ Us in a few months.”

“Okay, so you _do_ know,” Emma grimaced, ignoring Snow’s loud gasp as she staggered backwards. “Hmm.”

“She told me the morning we went to pick up Grandpa and Belle at the airport.”

“I HAVE TO TELL DAVID!” Snow shouted suddenly, running for the phone. Henry picked up his phone, which Snow had let go clattering to the floor.

“All right,” he said, turning it over to check for scratches. “You can text everybody the big news, I’ve got homework to finish.”

“And girls to text,” Emma muttered. Henry rolled his eyes.

“It’s _one_ girl. And she’s just my friend. I’m allowed to have friends, aren't I?”

“ _WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU ALREADY KNEW?”_

Emma and Henry whipped around: Snow was fuming, her face turning bright red as she listened to David’s frantic backpedaling. 

“I’m going to go find your dad,” Emma said hurriedly. “You should stay with her, we’ve got things to discuss.”

“Mom!” Henry gasped, feeling betrayed. “You can’t _leave_ me here with her! Are you insane?”

“Things to do, kid! Try to calm her down!” Emma threw over her shoulder as she disappeared out the door. Henry stared after her, open-mouthed. His own _mother._ She left him—with _Snow?_

“ _OH, YOU BET YOUR ASS, WE’LL DISCUSS THIS MORE AT HOME!_ ”

Henry looked miserably over as Snow slammed the phone down. She looked up, glaring at him.

“Now you tell me, and you tell me right now: who the _fuck_ is Violet?”

 

* * *

 

Belle walked in a slow circle as she studied the apartment, her hands behind her back. “It’s nice, Neal,” she said thoughtfully, coming to a stop. “Do you like it?”

Neal twisted his mouth to the side indecisively, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”

“What’s not to know?” Rumple scoffed, leaning his head back to admire the stairs. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, but it’s so close to David and Snow’s,” Neal complained. “I don’t want to live three doors down from my girlfriend’s parents. It would be weird.”

“No weirder than texting said girlfriend about cats all day,” Belle muttered. Neal’s phone had been going off all day with text alerts from Emma. At first, Belle thought it might have been work questions (Neal had looked rather frustrated at one point); but then she glanced over his shoulder, and read a paragraph Emma sent him about why cats didn't have feelings.

They had a … _strange_ relationship, Belle decided. 

“Now, Neal…I have to ask—“ Rumple put his hands in his pockets, shifting into what Belle thought of as his “important-landlord” pose. “How many people are you planning on moving into this apartment?”

Neal raised an eyebrow. “What are you getting at?”

“Well…” Rumple shrugged, glancing around the room awkwardly. “Are you…how to put this delicately….are you and Emma—?”

“Rumple!” Belle hissed, elbowing him. “Don’t you _dare_ ask him that! It’s way too early!”

“It’s nearly five o’clock.”

“That’s not remotely funny,” Belle said witheringly. “Now, don’t bug him about Emma, you’re going to freak him out.”

“Well, if I don’t ask, I’m never going to know!” Rumple said indignantly. “He didn't tell me they were dating! He’s not going to tell me if they’re moving in together, if they’re getting married—!”

“No one’s moving in or getting married!” Neal said loudly. “I’m getting an apartment because I need my own space, that’s _it!_ ”

“And one day, it’s going to be Emma’s space, too, and I’m not going to know, because you’re not going to tell me, because you don't trust me!”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Neal told him, putting up a hand. “Slow your roll, Dad—we haven't even been _out_ yet, technically speaking.”

“Really?” Belle crinkled her brow. “Still?”

“We’re laid-back,” he shrugged.

“Well, there’s laid-back, and then there’s comatose.” Belle folded her arms. “Seriously, Neal—take her out or something, buy her dinner.”

“We’re going out Friday night,” he said, pulling out his phone as it _ping_!ed again. “To that Italian place.”

“Oh?” Belle nodded, considering. “That’s a nice place.”

“Yeah, it is…” he said absently, frowning at the screen. 

“Just don't break any lamps there,” Belle went on. She had come home to find out her favorite Japanese lamp had been broken while Neal was house-sitting. Apparently, he and Emma had been playing floor hockey _in the house_ , and the puck had slammed into it hard enough to send it toppling to the floor. If it had been anyone else, she would have doubted that story, but since it was Neal and Emma…she didn't know: floor hockey could very well be part of a date. Along with throwing Cheerios at each other and exploding Mentos in soda.

“Something wrong?” Belle asked, frowning as Neal continued to stare at the screen. 

“Uh…” Neal blinked a few times, shaking his head to clear it. “No. No, I just, uh…got this text from Emma about Regina…” He dropped the phone in his pocket, still shaking his head. “Okay, so anyways, uh…Let’s talk rent, Dad. How much a month for this place?”

“You like it?” Rumple perked up. “You’re going to take it?”

Neal folded his arms, tilting his head back as he turned in a slow circle. “…I think so.”

“Even though it’s three doors away from Emma’s parents?”

“Well, there’s that…but it’s also three doors away from Emma and Henry, so there’s also that.” Neal nodded, still looking around the place. “Yeah, I think this is it.”

Belle immediately looked to Rumple. _Ask him about New York,_ she mouthed, motioning him quickly. Rumple nodded and cleared his throat.

“So, Neal.”

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking…”

“Okay?”

“You know, your New York apartment?”

“Dad, I told you. I’m not moving back to New York, but I still have to wait until the lease is up—“

“No, I know,” Rumple said over him. “But I was wondering if you’d consider—“

The door burst open as Emma strode in, breathing hard. 

“Em, what are you doing here?” Neal frowned. “I thought you were with—“

“There’s a _Violet,_ ” Emma cut in, her mouth set in a grim line. “A _girl._ ”

Neal looked at Belle and Rumple quizzically, as if they might have some better idea of what she was talking about; and turned back to Emma. “Are we still talking about Regina’s baby?”

“HER _WHAT?_ ” Belle and Rumple shouted. Regina _Mills?_ A _baby?_ What the fuck was this universe coming to? Regina Mills didn't go around having babies! She wore pantsuits and everything! She was a powerful, no-nonsense, cold-hearted business woman, with stiletto-daggered heels that she used to walk over those beneath her! She didn't have _babies!_

Emma shrugged dismissively. “Regina’s having a baby, whatever. _The point is—_ “ she glared at Neal—“Henry’s texting a _Violet.”_

“Did you know about this?” Rumple demanded, grabbing Neal’s elbow to whip him around. “ _Did you know about this and not tell me?_ ”

“I only knew about it two seconds ago!”

“Not _Violet!_ ” Rumple cried exasperatedly. “Who gives a flying fuck about Violet? Did you know about this baby? Did you? _Did you?_ ”

“I just found out ten minutes ago, get _off,_ Dad!” Neal tugged his arm out of Rumple’s grip, looking at him incredulously. “You’re acting like a crazy person!”

“You found out ten minutes ago that your sister is having a baby, and you didn't _tell me?_ ” Rumple threw up his hands furiously. “Well, I’d like to say I’m surprised at you, but this is typical Neal! Didn't tell me about Emma! Didn't tell me about Regina’s baby! What else are you hiding from me?”

“DAD, SHUT UP!” Neal shouted, fighting to be heard over Rumple’s tirade. He gripped his shoulders, looking at him intently. “You have to _calm down,_ okay?”

“Give me your phone,” Rumple growled. “I need to make a call.”

“Who do you need to call?” Neal said, dropping his hands, looking at him the way a teacher does a particularly difficult child. 

“The members of my book club, I just _have_ to talk some _Eat, Pray, Love!_ Who do you _think?”_

Neal made a bemused sound as Rumple suddenly reached into his jacket pocket, whipping out his phone.He furiously punched in a number, and held it to his ear. Neal tried to reach for it.

“Leave her alone, she’s not going to—“

“Regina?” Rumple started to pace the floor, breathing unevenly. “Is it true?”

Belle exchanged a worried glance with Neal: God help Regina, this was going to get _ugly._

 _“_ And who may I ask is the father?” Rumple demanded, pounding up the stairs to yell in privacy. They all three watched him go, tilting their heads up until the door slammed behind him. Instantly, Emma whirled back to Neal. 

“He’s texting a girl, Neal! This is a disaster!”

“Emma, calm _down!_ God, why is everyone losing their shit today? He’s fifteen years old, of _course_ he’s texting a girl!”

“ _Violet,_ ” Emma spat venomously. “Its name is _Violet._ ”

“Okay. Fine. He’s texting Violet, so what?”

“So what?” Emma looked at him incredulously. “He’s only four years younger than I was when I gave birth to him! And you want to know _so what?”_

“This is getting awkward,” Belle said over Neal’s response, as if talking loud enough would erase this conversation from her head. “I’m going to go…stare at random people outside or something.”

“The little slut!” was the last thing Belle heard before she closed the door behind her. She leaned against it, looking up at the ceiling. 

Every time things seemed like they were _just_ about to settle down…something else came along, and fucked it all up. Just when she was getting used to the idea of Cruella and Ursula and Lily, Regina had to have a baby, and Henry had to have a girlfriend. 

Why was this family such a magnet for drama?

 


	48. Chapter 48

“Okay, Ruby, I _really_ have to go now.”

“No, you don’t…”

Hook sighed, leaning his head back against the door. “Yes, I do.”

“ _Why?”_ Ruby pouted.

He frowned at the ceiling. “Because I’m _employed by this police force, and I have a responsibility,_ ” he mimicked Graham. “Apparently, I’m not a very good…whatever I am.”

“So why don't you quit?” Ruby asked, picking up his necklace and turning the pendant over  to examine it. “If you hate it here so much.”

“Because as much as it pains me to admit, being a pirate isn't a real job in this world. And I don’t have an endless supply of doubloons.”

Ruby sighed reluctantly, dropping his necklace. “ _Fine._ I should probably be getting back, anyway. My lunch break’s almost over.”

She was leaning in to kiss him, but the door suddenly swung open behind him. Hook let out a yelp, falling back and hitting his head hard on the floor.

“Whoa, shit—!”

“ _Damn it, Neal!_ ” 

“Sorry.”

 Hook winced, rubbing the back of his head as Neal pulled him up to a stand. “Bloody hell, mate…”

“Yeah, pip pip, guv’nor, whatever. Hey, listen—“ Neal ignored Hook rolling his eyes at his imitation. “I need a favor.”

Hook looked helplessly toward Ruby, mouthing, _Save me._  

She smiled apologetically and pointed to her wrist to indicate her lateness. _I have to go._

_No, you don’t—_

“Guys, not now,” Neal said exasperatedly, yanking Hook inside the office despite his protests. Hook whirled around furiously as the door slammed behind him.

“Neal! You didn't even let me say goodbye!”

“I’m not even going comment on that. Listen—“ Neal smiled, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “I found a place yesterday.”

“A place.”

“Like, for me to live.”

Hook frowned, giving his head a confused shake. “But you _have_ a place to live. At Granny’s.”

“Yeah, but now I have a _better_ place to live,” he said happily. “My dad’s giving me a discount on this apartment in Emma’s building—“

“You’re moving in with Emma?” Hook sputtered. “When did this happen?”

“I’m not _moving in with Emma,_ I’m getting my own place! Why is this so hard for everyone to understand?” Neal asked the ceiling. Hook put a hand to his heart, breathing hard in relief as he looked at Neal, shaking his head slightly. 

“Thank God. You really frightened me there,” he said. “For a second, I thought you were going off the deep end.”

“Again, not going to comment on you of all people worrying about that. Anyway, so—I got this place, and I need some help moving in.” Neal smiled winningly at him. “And since you’re my best friend…”

“That means, I have to,” Hook grimaced. 

“So, you’ll do it?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You swear on your pirate gods or whatever, you’ll help me move?”

“Pirate gods…?”

“I don’t know what’s sacred to pirates.”

“I swear on…” Hook looked around himself for inspiration. “I swear on this leather jacket, I will help you move.”

“Okay.” Neal relaxed, falling back on his heels. “Because all my furniture is in my New York apartment, and so is a bunch of my other stuff.”

Hook raised his eyebrows, suddenly realizing what Neal was getting at. “No.”

“You already swore on your jacket,” Neal said, pointing at him. “If you back out now, the gods will smite you.”

“I don’t bloody care, I’m _not_ going on a plane to help you move! I’m afraid of planes, Neal, you _know_ that!”

“Look, my dad will pay for your ticket, if you can’t swing it—“

“He won’t pay for me, he hates me.”

“If I ask him to, so you can help me out and move my stuff out here in his town _permanently,_ he’ll pay for your ticket,” Neal insisted. 

Hook narrowed his eyes, thinking for a minute. “Can I bring Ruby?”

“What?”

“Can. I. Bring. Ruby?”

“Why would you bring Ruby?”

He shrugged. “I’ll miss her.”

Neal rolled his eyes with his whole head. “You can go a few days without her, you’ll live.”

“Doubt that. If you’re strapping me in one of those flying monstrosities—“

“Flying monstrosities,” Neal exhaled, looking at the ceiling. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

“Not okay! If I’m going to plummet to my death, I want to spend my last moments with—“

“Shut _up,_ “ Neal groaned, covering his eyes. “If I have to hear— _one more time—_ how much you love Ruby—“

“Neal!” Hook exclaimed scandalously, looking around. “We haven't said the ‘L’ word yet, don’t go throwing it around!”

“Excuse me!” Graham snapped from the other side of the room. “Do you think you two could stop gossiping and get to work?”

They frowned, slowly turning their heads to look at him: Graham seemed not to care, irritably pulling another stack of paperwork toward him. He was still going through all their incomplete paperwork, doing follow-ups to finish them. For the past few weeks, he had slowly transformed from the annoyingly-nice, easy-going guy they hated to the unpleasant, irritable grouch they now loathed. Even Emma seemed a little wary of him (although, if you asked her, it was because he still had feelings for her, and she was with Neal now). 

Graham looked up, not hearing them scurry to their desks. “I’m sorry, was there some confusion?” he asked jerkily. 

“You know what I think?” Hook said to Neal in a perfectly audible voice. “Sexual frustration.”

“Hmm.”

“He needs a girlfriend.”

“Maybe.”

“Or a boyfriend. Whatever.”

“I could see that.”

“Kindly take your seats,” Graham said through clenched teeth. “And get to work.”

Neal and Hook exchanged a look, raising their eyebrows, but obliged. Emma waved miserably at them from inside her office; they waved back, and reluctantly turned to the papers on their desks. 

Hook sighed heavily, pulling one stack toward him with his hook. He honestly had no idea what he was doing or what he was supposed to do.  Any work he did at the police station involved picking up lunch, or picking up files from the library or city hall; other than that, his job was basically to sit there and look pretty—which, everyone agreed, he did well enough.

He looked over at Neal, whose eyes were already glazing over as he stared at the paper in front of him. He wasn't reading; he was probably trying to sleep with his eyes open.

“Oi,” he whispered. “Neal.”

Neal looked over, raising a lazy eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“I’m bored.”

Neal shrugged dubiously. “Okay.”

“Let’s go home.”

“Mmm.”

“I’m serious.”

“Okay.”

“We can go on strike.”

“I can’t go on strike. Me and Emma are getting coffee later.”

“You always get coffee,” Hook huffed irritably. “Don’t you do _anything else?_ ”

“We’re going out Friday,” Neal said absently, turning a page. “To that little Italian place.”

Hook raised his eyebrows, impressed. “That’s a nice place.”

“Yeah, it is—“

“Okay, guys,” Graham said loudly, standing up from his seat. “Is it really so much to ask that you stop messing around and just get to work?”

Neal frowned, turning his hand over questioningly. “What’s your problem, man?”

“My problem, is that the three of you aren't taking this seriously. When I was running this office, I spent every moment working and serving this town. You three are content to sit here and play Zombiepocalypse.”

“Hey, that game is brilliant, all right? ” Hook said defensively. 

“And when you were running this office, this town was still cursed,” Neal pointed out.”You guys still had pretend-real-world problems. No one cares about those, anymore.”

“Yeah, so long as we rescue the kittens from trees and shine flashlights in poorly lit areas, everyone’s satisfied,” Hook agreed. “Take my advice, Graham—find a nice guy to love, and your whole world will be so much better.” He looked at Neal, shrugging. “That’s what happened with me and Ruby.”

“Me and Emma,” Neal shrugged.

“That’s brilliant—“

They smacked their hands in a high-five, and turned back to Graham. His eyes flickered between the two of them, staring in disbelief.

“Okay, _one,_ I’m not gay. _Two—_ “ Graham raised his voice over their scoffs—“ _two,_ this is still a police station. We are still responsible for enforcing the law.”

“And when someone starts breaking it, we’ll put them in handcuffs,” Neal assured him. “And Hook gets to taunt them while they sit in the jail cell.”

“Sometimes I sing commercial jingles,” Hook grinned. “As loud as I can. That’s probably why we have so few criminals.”

“‘Cause he irritates the shit out of them, and no one wants to go through _that_ again,” Neal said. 

“You’re welcome,” Hook added with a wink.

Graham closed his eyes, struggling to keep his temper. “I’m going to lunch,” he said through clenched teeth. 

Neal and Hook stepped aside, allowing him to stalk past them and yank his coat off the stand. Hook waited until he heard the outside door close after him, then clapped Neal on the shoulder.

“Right. I’m going on another lunch break.”

“You just got back,” Neal said, already going over to knock on the door of Emma’s office. They always took an extra break while Graham was away. “I thought Ruby had to go back to work.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t—hey, Emma—doesn’t mean I can’t keep her company.”

“Keep who company?” Emma asked, shrugging on her coat.

“Ruby.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “You guys still in that stage where you want to spend every waking moment with each other?”

“Like you have any room to talk,” Hook scoffed. “You and Neal are still in that stage.”

“That’s not true,” Emma frowned. “There aren’t any waking moments with Neal, he’s always half-asleep.”

“She’s got a point,” Neal shrugged. 

“Well, that’s all very sweet, but I have to get to the diner,” Hook said. “Actually, Neal, could I borrow your scarf?”

Neal frowned, putting his hands protectively around his scarf. “Why?”

“Oh, you know—“ Hook waved his hand vaguely. “Just in case I need it.”

“Why would you need a scarf?” Emma asked, raising an eyebrow. “Emergency Christmas caroling?”

“You don’t need a scarf to Christmas carol,” Neal objected.

“But it enhances the image.”

“But you don’t need it.”

“For aesthetic purposes, yes, you do.”

“Emma….”

“It’s true!”

“That is _so_ stupid, I can’t even look at you right now.” Neal held up his hand, turning his face away from her. 

“It’s not stupid—“

“Neal, can I borrow the scarf or not?” Hook asked loudly, cutting in before one of their ridiculous arguments started up. 

“Why do you need it?” Emma repeated, rounding on him. Her eyes widened with dawning comprehension. “Not…? Oh, _Hook._ ”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Can’t be too careful.”

“Wait, I’m lost,” Neal frowned, dropping his hand. “What happened?”

“He wants your scarf, in case he has to cover up a hickey—which is disgusting, Hook because A, you’re a slut, and B, Ruby’s working, and she’s not going to throw herself at you just because you stroll into the diner—“

“Well, I don’t know about _that_.”

“He’s right, Em,” Neal grimaced. “Remember, I live next door…Part of the reason why I’m moving.”

“Just let me borrow the scarf, mate,” Hook said testily. “I don’t want Graham to see any ‘evidence’ that I went back out. He’ll pop that vein in his forehead.”

“Aren’t you afraid of bumping into Ursula?” Neal asked, looking highly reluctant to relinquish the scarf. “Maybe you should stay in.”

“Neal,” Hook sighed exasperatedly. “If I see Ursula, I will deal with her like a mature, responsible adult.”

Emma and Neal turned to each other, frowning in confusion.

“Mature…?”

“Responsible…?”

“Adult,” Hook nodded. “Because believe it or not, I _am_ capable of that.”

“Of course you are,” Neal said seriously as Emma snorted in derision. “That’s why you’re asking me for my scarf to cover up your future hickey. Because a mature, responsible adult does stuff like that.”

Hook narrowed his eyes. “You know, I really hate it when the two of you gang up on me. It makes me feel left out.”

“Good,” Emma said, taking Neal’s hand. “‘Cause you’re kinda being a third wheel right now.”

Neal grinned at Hook, allowing Emma to tug him after her. “Bye, Killy.”

“Shut it, Neal.”

“Bye, _Killy!_ ”

“Shut it, _Emma!_ ”

Hook glared after them until they left; they were still laughing as they passed the outside window, which did _not_ endear them to him.  If he hadn't been so anxious to get out of this bloody building and see Ruby, he’d have taken the time to unhinge their chairs. 

As it was, he only took the time to unhinge Graham’s before he left.

 


	49. Chapter 49

“You’ve got one in Examination Room A,” Marge said, handing him the clipboard.

“All righty, who’s on the menu—? Goddamn it, _again?_ ” Whale sighed, reading Roland’s name on the patient form. “What is it with this kid?”

Marge smiled blandly. “Merry Christmas, Dr. Whale.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, tucking the clipboard under his arm as he made his way to Examination Room A. 

Regina and Robin were standing on either side of Roland, Regina checking her phone; Robin leaning against the examination table, saying soothingly, “…going to have to be a good boy for Daddy, or we can’t get ice cream.”

“Ice cream!” Roland excitedly clapped his hands. Regina grimaced at the sudden loud sound, putting a hand to her head. “Daddy, ice cream!”

“We’ll get ice cream,” Robin said, nodding reassuringly. “But you have to be good for Daddy first.”

“Be good for Dr. Whale, too,” Whale said, sitting down on his stool and wheeling over to him. “And stop putting stuff in your nose.”

Robin turned around, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Dr. Whale, I didn't hear you come in.”

“Mmm,” he said absently, closing one eye as he shined his flashlight up Roland’s nose. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

“He seems to have a compulsion for it,” Regina said, leaning forward to study his movements. Whale slowly moved his eyes to the side, raising an eyebrow; Regina glanced at him, and frowned defensively. “What?”

“You’re blocking my light.”

Regina drew back, folding her arms. She and Robin watched him take out the pliers—

“Aagh,” Robin gagged, turning his face away. “God, that’s—“

“Can’t concentrate,” Whale sang through clenched teeth.

“Tell me when it’s over. I can’t look, it’s too—“

“Robin,” Regina said exasperatedly. “Stop talking.”

Robin scrunched up his shoulders, shuddering as Whale extracted yet _another_ tiny soldier from Roland’s nose. He glanced over, and immediately turned away again, cringing. “Oh, the _humanity._ ”

“Yeah.” Whale kicked off, the wheels pushing him toward the sink so he could wash his hands. _Scrub-scrub-scrub—_ if he washed hard enough, he might be able to scrub out the memory: working with Roland always put him in a worse mood, and he had already been muttering gypsy curses to people when he woke up. 

“All right,” he said, standing up to dry his hands. “You guys are good to go.”

“Actually,” Regina said as Robin lifted Roland onto his shoulders, “if you don’t mind, I’d like to hang back a moment. I have a few questions.”

Whale blinked at her a few times, slowly crumpling the paper towel. “About…?”

Regina flicked her eyes up, vaguely waving at her stomach. 

“ _Oh._ ” Whale cocked his head, frowning at her. “Mmm—you know I’m not a OB, right?”

“Just a few general questions,” Regina said, nodding at Robin over Whale’s shoulder as he left with Roland. “I’ll be quick; I don’t want to leave the two of them in the car in this cold.”

Because it was Regina, and because it was increasingly hormonal Regina, Whale sighed and said, “All right. Quick, though—I’ve got other patients.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Regina said, following him out of the examination room and down the hall. “I’ve never gone through this before, so I’m not entirely sure what I should be expecting—“

“A baby,” Whale said briskly, nodding at a nurse as she handed him another patient file. 

“Yes. A baby,” Regina said through clenched teeth. “But I meant during the _process_ of expecting this baby. For example, my magic’s been really sparky and temperamental—“

“I don’t know anything about magic, Regina. You’ll have to ask Gold,” Whale said, frowning as he flipped through the file. He sucked in a breath, reading the patient history. “Eeesh…that’s rough.”

“What is?” Regina asked curiously, trying to look over his shoulder; Whale snapped the file shut.

“That’s confidential!”

“Well, don’t say ‘that’s rough’ when you’re reading someone’s medical history, or people are going to want to know what you’re talking about!” she huffed. 

Whale tucked the file under his arm, scoffing. “My bad,” he said, weaving around a train of nurses. “Any other questions, or—?”

“Yes. My back is _killing_ me—“

“Normal.”

“And my feet—“

“Normal.”

“My head feels like it was split by a sledgehammer—“

“Normal.”

“My anxiety’s through the roof—“

“Normal.”

“I’m hungry, but I feel like I’m going to throw up _—_ “

“Normal.”

“Okay, _yes,_ it’s all normal!” Regina flared. “But is there anything I can _do_ for it?”

“Give birth? That should make the pregnancy symptoms go away.” Whale smiled at her blandly as she let out a frustrated breath. “I’m sorry, is that not what you meant?”

“Dr. Whale,” she said, clearly trying to remain patient. “I understand you’re stressed. I understand you have a lot to do. But the thing is—I am _acutely_ uncomfortable, and I do not handle anger well when I am acutely uncomfortable. Now before I or this baby lose our tempers and start setting off explosions—“ Regina grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to stop in the middle of the hallway. 

“Regina, please, I’ve got other patients—“

“And I wish them the best of luck. Now, what do I do about the aches? The anxiety? The nausea?”

“Aspirin, chamomile tea, and stay away from Hook and Ruby. Can I go?”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and and continued walking briskly down the hall, weaving through the busy traffic of nurses, patients, and random visitors. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aurora coming toward him, and quickly swerved away from her. He was stressed enough, he wasn't going to explain to Aurora for fifth time that he wasn't licensed to give her anxiety medication. 

“Dr. Whale—!”

“Nice to see you, too! I’m sure the baby’s healthy!” he called over his shoulder.

He strode down the hall, staring straight ahead, barely noticing any of the others: not the crying patients, not the overwhelmed nurses, not the frustrated visitors wondering why the vending machines refused to give up the SunChips. That was his life: complete indifference, going through the same motions day after day. Save a life here, save a life there, go home and watch T.V. 

Graham had initially provided a nice reprieve from it all. He always had a kind word, a smile, a hot meal waiting on the table; he asked about his day, kept him company; they watched T.V., played cards, sometimes just sat and talked…

But ever since he’d reemerged into Storybrooke society, Graham had… _changed._ He was now working overtime at the station, trying to clean up the mess Emma, Neal, and Hook had left; he no longer had time to watch T.V or cook rice pilaf, or even smile. Sometimes, they went days without talking, if their shifts overlapped: Whale would come home after an overnight shift and fall asleep before Graham was even finished making coffee; or Graham wouldn't come home before Whale _left_ for an overnight shift.

And when they _did_ talk, it was always Graham talking about the same thing over and over and over: getting over Emma. He’d thought that when he came back, they might be able to pick up where they left off…but even _Whale_ could tell that if there was one person Emma loved as much as her son, it was Neal— and it probably always would be. Graham didn't have a snowball’s chance in hell, or a Leroy’s chance with a supermodel, with Emma. Whale was content with knowing all this—the trouble came when Graham wanted to _discuss_ it. Talk about his feelings, talk about his heartbreak, talk about trying to get over it. Dissect every little _detail_ under a fucking microscope, pulling apart the fibers of every cell, trying to split a fucking atom, for Christ’s sake, because _GRAHAM_ had to _TALK!_

Actually, it was so bad, that—rather than going home when his shift ended—Whale decided to stop by the White Rabbit for a drink…or several. God knew, he’d need it to get through an evening with Graham. 

“Hey, Vince,” Whale said, miserably sliding into a seat at the bar. “Give me the usual.”

“Rough day?” 

“Meh,” he shrugged, watching Vince mix his drink. “No more than usual. But I think Graham’s coming home early today, so I’m foreseeing a rough evening.”

Vince chuckled sympathetically, sliding his drink over. “Yeah, you should hear how _my_ wife nags me after a long day of work.”

Whale frowned, slowly lifting his head. “Um…you know that Graham and me are just roommates, right?”

“Oh. Right.” Vince smiled unconvincingly. “ _Roommates._ ”

“That’s not code for ‘boyfriends’,” Whale said firmly. “We’re literally roommates.”

“I’m…sure you are.” Vince turned away from Whale’s sputters, his eyes lighting up as a new customer sat down. “Hey, boss!”

“Vince,” Jefferson nodded with a smile, settling down in the stool next to Whale. “Give me an Old Fashioned.”

“Coming up.”

Jefferson leaned his elbows against the counter. “So,” he said, clearly talking to Whale even though his eyes were watching Vince. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Paradise is fine; I’m just giving myself some anesthesia before listening to Graham bitch about his job for six hours,” Whale said grimly.

“Hmm,” Jefferson breathed amusedly. “Can’t live with him, can’t live without him, eh?”

Whale closed his eyes exasperatedly. “Okay, I don’t know how this rumor started, but we’re _not gay.”_

“That’s not what Grace says.”

“What does Grace know about it?” Whale scoffed. 

“She’s friends with Violet.”

“Who the hell is Violet?”

“Henry’s girlfriend.”

“His _girlfriend_?” Whale snorted. “Henry doesn't have a girlfriend.”

“That’s not what Grace says. Thanks, Vince.” Jefferson took his drink, raising it briefly to Whale before taking a sip; he exhaled in satisfaction, giving a little shudder. “Ooh, that’s strong. Anyways, Grace heard it from Violet, who heard it from Henry, and I thought since Henry spent so much time with you guys—“

Whale groaned, dropping his head in his hands. _Damn that kid. “_ Give me another, Vince.” He glanced at Jefferson, who seemed somewhat amused. “It’s not couple problems with _Graham,_ ” he said irritably. “It’s just work stuff.”

“Work stuff. Okay.”

“Yeah, work stuff.” Whale twisted in his seat, narrowing his eyes at Jefferson. “I’m a _doctor,_ okay? Do you know how much stress that is, just on a regular day? I’ve got hundreds of patients depending on me every day, and now I’ve got Regina calling me at all hours, just _showing up_ at the hospital to pester me with questions I’m not qualified to—“

“Victor, Victor, Victor,” Jefferson said soothingly, holding up his hands. “It’s okay, no one’s going to judge you here. I mean—” he shrugged, smiling slightly—“ _I’m_ gay.”

Whale stared at him incredulously. “What?”

“I’m gay.”

“No, no, I heard you, I’m just—“ Whale shook his head, frowning at him—“what does that have to do with my work problems?”

Jefferson sighed, smiling pityingly. “Look…I used to do that, too. Blame my frustration on other things: work, being a single parent, dealing with difficult people…I didn't want to admit it to myself for a long time, but I realized that the reason I was so frustrated was because I was tired of hiding from myself.”

“Right. Uh—“ Whale cleared his throat. “That’s really inspiring and everything, Jeff, but I’m still not gay.” 

Jefferson raised his eyebrows. “Oh, no?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Quite.”

“So, then…you wouldn't mind if _I_ called Graham?”

Whale blinked at Jefferson’s hopeful face. “…Is he gay?” he asked, crinkling his brow. “I thought he went for girls.”

“Mmm—“ Jefferson smiled disbelievingly—“I don’t think so.”

“Seriously?” 

“I could be wrong, of course, but I’m pretty good at picking up on this kind of thing.” Jefferson drummed his fingers on the table. “ _So._ Can I call him?”

“Uh—“ Whale shrugged bemusedly. “Yeah, go for it.”

“Thanks,” Jefferson grinned, taking out his phone. “Here, put his number in for me.”

“Okay.” Whale carefully punched in Graham’s number, still marveling at the revelation. Graham was _gay?_ Then why was he so pissed about Emma? Maybe he was bi. Or maybe he didn't _know._ Huh. Interesting.

“Thank you,” Jefferson said as Whale handed him his phone back. “Actually, can I ask you something else?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued speaking. “See, ever since that Halloween party, business has really picked up around here. Which is, of course, really great and al, except now I’m short-staffed. I don’t have enough people working to meet the demands, so I was wondering…do you know anyone looking for a job?”

Whale raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking if any of my nurses want to flip burgers on their nights off?”

“ _No,”_ Jefferson said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “But my waitstaff is pretty light, and I need another chef so Tom doesn't have to work overtime.”

“Well, if you need a chef, you could always ask David Nolan,” Whale said thoughtfully. “He’s pretty good.”

Jefferson nodded, considering. “David, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s good,” Whale assured him. “Makes a good pancake, from what I hear.”

“Uh—“ Jefferson frowned—“w-well, that _is_ a staple in the burger industry…”

“And for waitstaff—“ Whale shrugged. “I’ll ask around. Can’t promise anything, but next kid who comes in with a broken arm, I’ll ask.”

“Thanks,” Jefferson said with an appreciative smile, clapping him on the back. “All right—“ he slid off his stool. “I’ve got a restaurant to manage, so I’ll see you later. _Hopefully,_ not at the bar.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Whale muttered dryly, going back to his drink. _That’s extremely unlikely,_ he thought to himself. If Graham was going to be discovering he was gay (as Jefferson seemed fairly confident he was), that was going to be a million more hours of talking. This was going to require a _lot_ more “anesthesia” over the next few weeks… or months…or years…?

“Get used to my face, Vince,” Whale said, sliding his glass over again. “You’re going to see it a lot.”

“I’m married.”

“Jesus Christ, man, I already told you—I’m not _gay!_ ”

 

 


	50. Chapter 50

“You should have told me. I’m your father.”

“No, you’re not. You’re a biological contributor to my existence, but you are not my father.”

“Regina, I practically raised you.”

“You didn’t, but okay.”

“You should have told me. And _you_ should have told me about you and Emma.”

“Jesus, Dad, are you still on that? Get over it, already.”

“I can’t believe you kids! Keeping secrets from your father like this! What would your mothers say?”

Regina shrugged. “Probably something along the lines of, ‘Good job, honey, now let’s take over the world’?”

“You should have _told_ me!” Rumple insisted, pounding his fist on the table. Regina and Neal exchanged an exasperated look, while Belle engrossed herself in a game of Candy Crush on her phone, staying firmly out of the conversation. 

Regina rather resented that: after all, it had been _Belle’s_ idea to force them all to have breakfast together. Apparently, Rumple had been driving her nuts, complaining about his children shutting him out of their lives; for some reason, she’d thought that talking over breakfast at Granny’s would help them straighten out their issues…which would make Rumple stop bitching, thus allowing Belle to enjoy some peace and quiet. Regina had agreed to it, only because she needed to ask Rumple about the sporadic magic flying out of her—or rather, from this baby. Except Rumple was making it rather difficult to do that, because he wouldn't shut up.

“Now be careful,” Neal muttered to her. “Pretty soon, he’s going to pull out the guilt-bombs and start dropping _I love you’_ s.”

“I love you two _so_ much,” Rumple said desperately. “Neal, you know how much I love you.”

“There it is,” he said under his breath. “I know, Dad.”

“And Regina, even though I didn't _know_ you were my daughter, I always thought of you like that.”

“That’s nice. So, listen, I have a few ques—“

“And yet, you two _insist_ on shutting me out! I am your _father,_ I only want what’s best for you!” Rumple looked between the two of them, as though they were two small children whom he was very disappointed in. “Why would you do this to me?”

“I guess we’re just horrible people,” Neal said cheerfully. 

“Pretty much,” Regina shrugged. “Now, about those questions…”

Rumple looked as though he wanted to argue, but Belle cleared her throat meaningfully; he gave a helpless little sigh, and waved his hand. “All right, go on.”

“How normal for a woman to lose control of her magic while she’s expecting?” Regina asked bluntly. Rumple’s eyebrows shot up.

“Like…you’re having trouble casting spells?”

“No,” Regina said, shaking her head. “It’s more like, magic has just been bursting out of me. It almost seems as though the baby’s emotions are having an influence over my magic.” She watched Rumple carefully as he rubbed his chin, thinking hard.

“I wouldn't say it’s normal…” he said thoughtfully. “Not for a woman to lose control over her own magic.”

Regina’s heart thudded in her throat. “It’s not?” she asked, panicked. Did that mean something was wrong? Was there something wrong with her? Or was it the baby? Did her magic _hurt_ the baby? “Oh, my God,” she said, fanning herself to get air. “Oh, my God—“

“Now, now, don’t panic,” Rumple said reassuringly, holding up his hand. “It’s not normal for _your_ magic to be affected. It _is_ normal for the child to express her own magic, though.”

“Express her own…?” Regina blinked rapidly, her heart thudding for an entirely different reason. “You think it’s a girl? W-with magic?”

“I’m quite certain, actually.” Rumple smiled at her and for a minute, Regina genuinely believed she was his daughter. “She’s going to be a lot like her mother. _Very_ powerful and _very_ temperamental.”

 _Powerful._ She’d suspected…but she’s been too afraid to get her hopes up; she still was. “H-how do you know?” Regina asked, somewhat breathlessly. “I’m only eight weeks in. How can you already know?”

“I still get glimpses of the future.” Rumple chuckled a little. “She’s going to be a very talented little sorceress, I can tell you that. And perhaps a Grandaddy’s girl…?” he added hopefully, raising his eyebrows at Regina.

“Rumple,” Belle said gently. “Don’t push.”

“No, it’s all right,” Regina heard herself say. “If nothing else, I’d want you to teach her like you taught me.”

“You would?” Rumple looked surprised. 

“Yeah…” Regina sat back in her seat, marveling over his words. _A very talented little sorceress. “_ Yeah, I would, actually. If she’s going to be as powerful as you say she is, I want her to have a good education.” 

Rumple’s eyes looked dangerously watery; Regina cleared her throat, carefully adjusting her jacket while Neal and Belle suddenly found it necessary to look out the window as Rumple composed himself. Truthfully, Regina needed a minute herself: this was the first time it had ever really hit her, but she was…going to be a _mother._  

Of course, she was already a mother, but this time was different: she didn't have to share this baby with anyone, this was _her_ little girl. Hers and Robin’s. Just theirs; no one else’s. 

Maybe she’d have Regina’s dark hair, or Robin’s blue eyes. Robin would teach her to shoot a crossbow; and Regina could help her with magic. She’d toyed with the idea of this baby being magical; indulged in the daydream of a little hand holding a spark in its first attempt to conjure a fireball; but hearing Rumple tell her he’d _seen_ it made it so much more real, so much more tangible. This was actually happening. 

“Okay,” Rumple said, drawing a finger under his eye. “So, I think I’m going to take off…got to open the shop, you know. Christmastime, people are going to be looking for presents…”

“People really buy stuff from the shop?” Neal said in surprise as Rumple and Belle got up from the table. “I thought it was just where you hoard a bunch of magic stuff that no one uses anymore.”

“I’ve got an antiques section,” Rumple shrugged. “Something to give the mother-in-laws. Speaking of—“ he flashed Neal a smile—“you want to come by, find something for Snow?”

“I don’t know why I’d do that,” Neal said, taking a careful sip of coffee. “She’s not my mother-in-law.”

“ _Yet,_ ” Rumple said wryly. “I _do_ hope you’ll invite me to the wedding. Or at least, tell me once it’s happened. You know—if you decide to include me in on something like that.”

“Rumple,” Belle warned as Neal made an exasperated noise. “Let’s go.”

“We’re not done talking about this,” Rumple told him as Belle started leading him away. “You hear me? It’s not over!”

“Bye, Dad,” Neal said loudly. Rumple waved his hand dismissively, allowing Belle to tug him out the door. Instantly, Neal slid out of his seat next to Regina and into the one across from her.

“So—“ he drummed his hands on the table. “Looks like I’m going to be the only one in the family without magic now.”

Regina smiled faintly. “Well, you could always learn a few card tricks or pull a quarter out of someone’s ear, if you feel the need to conform.”

“Mmm, that’s okay,” he shrugged, reaching across the table to pull his cup toward him. “I’m not really into the whole magic thing.”

“Right.” Regina tapped the table, feeling a little uncomfortable. This was one those things…no matter how well she and Neal got along, this was always going to be one of their fundamental differences: just like it was between Neal and Rumple. Magic was something she depended on: it made her feel strong and fearless; it had made her who she was, every flaw and virtue. She thought of it as a blessing; Neal thought of it as a curse. 

Neal must have sensed what she was thinking, because he added, “I don’t _hate_ magic, okay? I don’t love it, but I’m not anti-magic.”

“No?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You seem pretty uncomfortable with it.”

“I am,” he admitted. “But it’s nothing against you personally. I just don’t like it.”

“Why?” Regina scoffed. “I can’t imagine _not_ using magic.”

“Yeah, but it’s so _risky,”_ Neal insisted. “It’s like mixing chemicals, you know? It’s okay if you know what you’re doing, but one wrong move, and—“ he made an explosion sound. “Things get ugly.”

“I suppose,” Regina said lightly. “But that’s why I think it’s important to get a good education on it. So you _do_ know what you’re doing.”

Neal frowned, slightly shaking his head. “If this is about Henry, I already told you, I don’t have a problem with him learning magic.”

“I know.” Regina cleared her throat, avoiding his gaze. “That’s why I told Cruella and Ursula I’d let Henry try to bring Maleficent back.”

It was something she’d been _meaning_ to tell him, but had conveniently “slipped her mind”. Very conveniently, considering his reaction was exactly what she’d been dreading it would be.

“ _What?”_

“Now, Neal, don’t get upset—“

“Regina!” Neal stared at her in disbelief. “You’re going to let Henry try to resurrect a—and I quote— _sexually frustrated dragon lady with anger issues?_ ”

“That was my fault. I shouldn't have described her like that. What I meant, was…” Regina looked at him helplessly. “Okay, yes, she’s a crazy bitch. But Neal, I _had_ to.”

“No, you didn’t!” he sputtered. “It’s bad enough you’ve got him working on bring back your psychopath of a mother! Now you want him to bring back your psychopath of an ex-girlfriend?”

“Who told you that?” Regina frowned. “I don’t remember us talking about this.”

Neal waved his hand impatiently. “It’s a small town, Regina. Word gets out. Point is, _you’re letting him do this?”_

“Yes. I am.” Regina folded her arms, staring back at him defiantly. “Henry has a unique ability. I don’t know _how_ he brought Graham back, because I tried a million spells to bring back Daniel. None of them worked. _Henry_ does it on his first try.”

“He’s a smart kid. That doesn't mean you should let him try to resurrect a fucking _dragon._ ”

“Neal,” Regina said through gritted teeth. “All Cruella and Ursula want to do is reunite Maleficent with her daughter. Emma got to be reunited with _her_ parents; you got to be reunited with your father; and soon, I will be reunited with _my_ mother. Why shouldn't I let Henry try to help Lily do the same?”

Neal frowned. _“Lily?_ ”

“Yes, Lily.” Regina raised her eyebrows. “Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s…” Neal shook his head, muttering to himself. “Lily…”

“What?”

He looked up at her, grimacing. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.”

“Oh, well, _that_ clears things up.”

“There’s this weird thing between her and Emma, I don’t know. She won’t tell me, but I get the feeling that they were…” Neal shifted his hands vaguely. “ _Involved_ at some point.”

Regina’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “At any rate, Lily hates me. Which is okay, because I kinda hate her.”

“That’s nice.”

“It works for us.”

“Hey, Regina!”

Regina glanced up as Tink strode into the diner, pushing her sunglasses back. “Hi, Tink,” Regina said as Neal dropped his head in his hands, muttering curses. “How are you?”

“Ugh,” Tink said, apparently not noticing Neal as she slid into the seat next to him. “Mother Superior woke me up at six in the morning, bitching at me because I haven’t been home the last few nights.”

“Uh-huh, and where exactly have you been?”

Tink smiled wryly, shrugging. “Around.”

“You are such a whore,” Regina said, making a face. “God, Tink, are you seriously proud of that?”

“I’m not ashamed of my sexuality,” Tink said, inviting herself to Neal’s coffee cup. “I have needs, Regina. And wants,” she added thoughtfully. “I have many wants.”

Neal kept his head in his hands, though Regina could just imagine the pleading look on his face as he begged the universe to make Tink stop talking. Regina added in her own prayers for good measure; she didn't need to hear about Tink’s sexuality. God knew, she already heard far too much about it at family gatherings.

“Oh, _God._ ” Tink pulled a face, looking at something over Regina’s shoulder. “Incoming Hook and Ruby.”

“Gah,” Regina gagged, shuddering as she imagined the horrors going on behind her back. “How graphic?”

Tink tilted her head considering. “I’d say, we’re moving into PG-13 territory right now.” She cupped her hands around her mouth, and called out, “Hey, Ruby, when you come up for air, there’s an old lady at the counter taking out her dentures who needs a refill!”

She laughed to herself, taking another sip from Neal’s coffee. “There’s a mood killer,” she said cheerfully. “Anyways—“ she exhaled loudly, drumming her hands on the table. “You ready to go out and do some Christmas shopping? Paint the town red like a couple of sluts?”

Regina raised her eyebrows dryly. “Hmm. What do you think, Neal? Want to to paint the town red like a couple of sluts with us?”

The blood drained from Tink’s face as Neal slowly lifted his head out of his hands. “That’s all right,” he said, sighing heavily as he got up from the table. “You two paint without me. I’m going to go to the station and pretend to work, or something.”

“Bye,” Regina said, trying not look at Tink staring up at Neal with wide eyes. “Have fun.”

Neal nodded, keeping his eyes firmly away from Tink; she leaned out of her seat, nearly toppling out to watch him go.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “Is it me, or does he get sexier every day?”

“ _Brother._ ”

“I don’t care,” Tink said wildly, turning around. “He’s fucking _hot.”_

“Tink,” Regina said through gritted teeth. “I don’t need to hear these things about my brother. I really don’t.”

“But he _is._ ” Tink sighed longingly. “You know, Hook was supposed to talk to him for me? In exchange for me getting info out of Ruby?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “Little bitch double-crossed me.”

“You’re going to have to get over it,” Regina remarked. “He and Emma seem pretty solid, from what I can tell.”

“I know,” Tink grimaced. “Belle told me they’re going out tomorrow for a fancy-schmancy night. At that little Italian place.”

“Oh. That’s a nice place.”

“Yeah, it is.” Tink exhaled frustratedly, leaning her head back. “This isn't _fair,_ ” she whined. “Emma gets every hot guy in town. And now she’s got the hottest one wrapped around her finger.”

“Brother,” Regina reminded her abruptly. “Please stop telling me—“

“I mean, god _damn,_ is he hot! I just wanna—“

“Tink!”

“Hey, you make me listen to all your baby crap,” Tink retorted. “You think _I_ need to hear about your _pregnancy symptoms?_ ”

The cup shattered in Tink’s hand, drenching her skirt in coffee. “ _Shit!_ ” she shrieked, flying out of her seat. “Shit, shit _shit!”_

Regina looked down at her stomach in surprise. “Was that you?”

It was too early for the baby to give her any sort of sign, but somehow she knew…yes. Yes, it was. She smiled to herself. 

_A very talented little sorceress indeed._

 


	51. Chapter 51

“ _And you wanna fold in the egg whites. Don’t mix them, or you’ll lose all that air in there, and the whole thing will melt. So just fold…”_

“Did she say anything about a rubber spatula being better than a plastic one?” David asked, scribbling down Giada’s instructions furiously. “Henry!”

Henry let out a startled breath, jerking awake. “What? What?”

“Did she say anything about a rubber or plastic spatula?”

“What? I don’t _know._ ” 

David rolled his eyes impatiently, and elbowed Hook. “Did you hear her say anything about a spatula?”

Hook shrugged, playing a game of Candy Crush on his phone. 

David blew out a frustrated breath, and resumed taking notes on Giada’s Christmas mousse. He didn't have time to deal with Hook’s and Henry’s ignorance: there was _mousse_ in the making.

In all honesty, he didn't care so much about mousse (he already had a fantastic soufflé recipe that had taught him the basic art of egg white folding): what he really needed was something to distract himself from what was going on upstairs. Emma. Getting ready for a date. With _Neal._

He liked Neal. Neal was a nice guy. Neal was a fun guy. Neal was a good guy.

But Neal was a guy. 

He couldn't help feeling protective: Emma was his little girl. It was normal for him to feel the need to censor his thoughts firmly away from the two of them together. Fathers were always suspicious of their daughters’ boyfriends, and he didn't care how nice or fun or good Neal was, he was still”The Boyfriend”. And that made him the enemy.

David had missed twenty-eight years of Emma’s life, and it still felt like he had _just_ got her back. And now Neal wanted to take her away.

“She’s a grown woman, David,” Snow would remind him patiently. “She’s not a kid. You have to let go.”

“I know,” David would sigh. And he _did_ know: he wished he didn’t, but he did. There was nothing he could really do, except sit here and try to distract himself with Giada’s mousse recipe.

“Okay,” Emma’s voice called as she came clunking down the stairs. “What about this one?”

The three of them twisted in their seats to look at the third dress Emma had tried on: it was a pink V-necked, swirly-skirted dress that left her arms mostly bare. Emma gave a little twirl, raising her eyebrows. 

“Well?”

David exchanged a look with Hook, was frowning critically at it. “No good?”

“No good,” he agreed. “Emma, darling, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve got to—“

“Cover up—“

“—slut it up.”

David whirled around wildly, staring at Hook with wide eyes. “ _Slut it up?_ ”

“The skirt’s too long!” Hook said defensively. 

“Okay, but other than the skirt,” Emma cut  in, raising her voice over David’s sputters. “Seriously—how do I look?”

“Stunning,” Hook said promptly. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Emma smiled. “Really?”

“Yes, of course, love. That dress is so ugly, I am utterly _stunned_ by how ugly it is.”

The smile slid off her face. “You’re an asshole,” she said, stomping back up the stairs to Snow and Ruby. “Apparently, it’s _stunningly ugly,_ ” they heard her say witheringly.

“And don’t wear your hair in the high ponytail!” Hook yelled up the stair, his voice blaring in David’s ear. “You look like an extra on _Grease!_ ”

“So do you!”

“Yeah, but _I_ pull it off,” Hook muttered, settling back in his seat. He nudged David. “I’m right, aren't I? That dress was ugly.”

David grimaced at him, still hearing the words _“slut it up”_ echo repeatedly in his head. Hook raised his eyebrows.

“What? Am I the only one who thought it was ugly?”

David closed his eyes exasperatedly, picking up his notepad again. “Let’s just go back to Giada, okay? I have to research. Regina’s Christmas party is in two weeks, and I still don’t know what I’m making.”

“Just bring a bottle of wine like everyone else,” Hook scoffed. 

“You’re supposed to bring food,” David frowned. “It’s a social custom. You bring food to a Christmas party; you just do. Besides—“ he straightened himself in his seat, feeling important—“I’m not just bringing food as a guest. Regina asked me to help her with all the cooking and baking—“

“Sounds like lots of fun,” Hook said, losing interest in David as Penelope Cruz twirled onscreen, explaining why Revlon was mankind’s greatest creation. David frowned disapprovingly.

“Hook—“

“Shh,” Hook said, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Penelope’s speaking.”

“You have a girlfriend.”

“Who shushes me every time Chris Hemsworth takes his shirt off. Now, _shh._ ”

David turned to exchange an exasperated look with Henry, but he had long since lost interest in the conversation and was now typing rapidly on his phone. David leaned back, trying to read the screen.

“Who’s—“ he squinted—“ _Violet?_ ”

“No one you know,” Henry said absently, shifting away from David’s eyes. 

“I _know_ she’s no one I know. That’s why I asked who she was.”

Henry made an impatient noise and got up from the couch, shunting off to his room. David watched him go with raised eyebrows. Why was it, that no matter what he did, he always seemed to exasperate Henry? The only reaction he ever got from him anymore was an eyeroll or  a smart-ass response.

“What is it with that kid?” David asked, shaking his head as he sat back in his seat. “He used to be so much—“

“Shorter?”

“ _Nicer._ ”

“Oh.” Hook looked away from the screen as Penelope twirled herself out, and lightly hit David in the shoulder. “Hey, I got a question for you.”

“Hmm?”

Hook shifted his eyes around, lowering his voice. “I don’t know what to get Ruby for Christmas,” he said. “Approximately, how much thought should I put into it for having dated a combined…fourish, maybe five weeks?”

David crinkled his brow. “Are you asking me to calculate how much thought you should put into a gift?”

“Yes,” Hook said, nonplussed. 

“Hook—“

“Neal says, that there _is_ such a thing as too much thought,” Hook explained quickly. “See, if you put too much thought into a premature relationship, you’re potentially  overstepping your boundaries and making presumptions. And if you don't put enough thought in, then that comes off as not being interested in making a long-term commitment and just looking for a good time. And if you don't put in _just_ the right balance of thought, it looks like you’re not educated about the relationship status, and you haven't been paying attention, and you’re not invested in it as much as the other person, so _yes,_ David. I am asking you to calculate how much thought I should put into this gift.”

“Maybe you should ask Neal,” David said, turning away from Hook as Giada returned to start her demonstration on sweet potatoes. “He seems to be an expert.”

“Yes, but you know Ruby so much better,” Hook insisted. 

“Get her a wolf-thingy,” David said distractedly as Giada explained the many virtues of sweet potatoes. “She likes wolves.”

“But what _kind_ of wolf-thingy?”

“Can we do this later? I’m—“

“Researching, right.” Hook rolled his eyes, muttering something about how stupid it was to take notes on something people weren't even going to eat (which David chose to ignore). 

“Okay!” Emma called out, balancing carefully on her heels as she came down the stairs. “How about this one?”

David and Hook twisted around yet again, giving her an appraising look. Dress Number Four was a simple, short black one: too form-fitting for David’s comfort, but Hook was nodding emphatically.

“You see? _That_ is the appropriate mixture of slutty and classy.”

“Thanks,” Emma grinned, apparently taking it as a compliment. “Dad? What do you think?”

David shifted uncomfortably. “It’s a little tight, isn't it?”

“Tight?” Emma looked down at herself, then back up. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You sure?” David scratched the back of his head, looking for a polite way to say, _You look like a hooker._ He was saved the trouble as Ruby and Snow came clattering down the steps, beaming. 

“Doesn’t she look _great?_ ” Ruby squealed, as Snow snapped a few pictures with her camera. “ _I_ did her make-up.”

“You don’t think you’re going to get a little cold?” David said desperately. “It’s _really_ short, Emma…”

“Well, I’ve got a coat,” Emma shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like we’re going to be outside. We’re going to a restaurant. You know, that little Italian place.”

“Oh.” Ruby raised her eyebrows, impressed. “That’s a nice place.”

“Yeah, it is.” Emma looked around as Snow snapped a few more pictures. “Mom, give it a rest, huh?”

“Oh, let her have her fun,” Ruby said, motioning for David to scoot over so she could sit next to Hook. “She never got to see you off to one of her lame balls.”

“Hey!” Snow said, stung. “They weren't lame! Right, David?”

David leaned his head back to look at her upside down. “They were a little lame,” he smiled. Snow rolled her eyes, flicking his head. 

“You’re just saying that because—“

She broke off as someone knocked on the door; everyone whipped around. 

“Em?” Neal called, his voice slightly muffled. “You ready?”

“Wait, don’t let him in yet!” Emma said wildly as David got up. “I have to go upstairs, so I can make a grand entrance!”

“No, come on, Em, don’t do the grand entrance thing!” Neal complained from outside. “Can’t we just—?”

“Grand entrance!” Emma insisted, scrambling as fast up the stairs as her heels allowed. “Not yet, Dad, not yet!”

David closed his eyes exasperatedly, keeping his hand on the handle. “Can I let him in yet?”

“Not _yet!_ ”

He could hear Neal hitting his head against the door. 

“Can I let him in yet?”

“Yeah, let him in!”

David opened the door. Neal was standing there with his hands in his pockets, raising his eyebrows dryly. 

“Oh, am I allowed in now?” he asked, stepping past David into the loft. David slowly closed the door behind him, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Neal.” Ruby looked up from watching Hook play Candy Crush to give Neal a once-over, nodding in approval. “You look nice.”

Hook frowned, slumping his head on Ruby’s shoulder and making a soft whining sound. Neal rolled his eyes while Ruby laughed, pushing his head back up. 

“Emma, come on!”

“I’m coming!”

David folded his arms, frowning as Neal drifted to the foot of the steps to watch Emma come down.

She didn't clunk down like she had before; she walked down gracefully, her fingers lightly resting on the railing, an almost shy kind of smile on her face as she stopped on the step just above Neal.

“Nice entrance,” he grinned.

“Right?” She looked him up and down, absently adjusting his jacket collar. “This is a nice suit.”

“Yeah, my dad made me go to his tailor,” Neal said, stretching out his arms and examining the sleeves. “Not gonna lie, it was probably the most boring afternoon of my entire life.”

“What does a tailor even do?” Emma asked, motioning for Neal to follow her to the coat rack. “I know they have tape measures, but that’s about it.”

“I don’t know,” Neal said as he lifted her coat off the hook, holding it out for her to poke her arms through the sleeves. “Custom-fit your clothes, I think.”

“Why not just buy clothes that fit to begin with?”

“Because overcomplicating things is very fashionable right now.”

Emma fluffed her hair out of her coat as  she walked to the door, Neal following closely behind. She raised her eyebrows at David, who was still hovering by the door.

“Bye, Dad,” she said, giving him a meaningful look. 

David looked past her, frowning at Neal. “What time you guys going to be home?” he asked. “Not too late, I hope?”

“We’ll see,” Emma said icily, staring daggers at him. _Don't you dare humiliate me,_ her eyes said. David pretended not to notice, leaning against the doorframe to block their path.

“So, Neal,” he said. “I think it’s time we discuss your intentions with my daughter.”

Neal’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m sorry?”

“Your intentions with my daughter,” David enunciated. “What are they?”

“Oh, I think we all know Neal’s intentions,” Hook grinned from the sofa. “You’ve met Henry, haven't you?”

Emma gave him a withering look, laughing sarcastically. “ _Funny.”_

 _“_ I try,” Hook shrugged, going back to his game. David spared him a disgusted look before turning back to Emma and Neal.

“Have her back by—“

“Oh, my God,” Emma said loudly. “Mom, get him out of here!”

“David—“ Snow walked over, snapping another picture before she gripped his arm and tugged him away from the door. “Come on, let them go.”

Emma huffed, swinging the door open. _“Thank you,_ ” she said to Snow, giving David one last disparaging look over her shoulder; Neal smiled awkwardly at David, putting his hand up in a parting wave before following Emma out the door.

“They are so _cute_ together,” Snow grinned, going through her pictures. “Aww…look how happy they are!”

David frowned, leaning over her shoulder to look. “How can you tell? That’s just a picture of their shoes.”

“Oh, yeah—I dropped the camera, and the button clicked. No, no, no, I meant _this_ one.” Snow triumphantly held up the camera, showing him the picture she’d taken of them at the stairs. “See?”

They looked happy. Not just in-a-good-mood-happy or doing-something-fun-tonight-happy, but _happy._ David looked at the picture, feeling his heart swell and break at the same time: Emma, his little girl, his little princess…all he wanted was for her to be happy. And if Neal was what it took to make her happy, fine. He could reconcile himself to that. He didn’t particularly like it, but he could reconcile himself to that.

Hopefully.

 

* * *

 

 

The “little Italian place” turned out to be more than merely _nice;_ it was very classy, very fancy-looking. Emma looked around at the dimly-lit, luxurious room with linen table cloths and dark-wood tables. Each table had a few candles cuddled around a delicate vase of flowers, surrounded by carved wooden chairs.

Emma leaned to whisper in Neal’s ear. “This is a nice place.”

“Yeah, it is,” he grinned, leading her to the hostess’s desk. “Hey. Reservation should be under ‘Cassidy’, for two.”

“ _‘Cassidy’…”_ The woman ran her finger down the page. “Oh, there you are.” She looked up with a smile. “Follow me.”

“Okay, but even the waiters are fancy,” Emma whispered as they wound their way after the  hostess. “I mean, they’ve got bowties.”

“ _Bowties…_ ” Neal said in a mock-sultry tone. “How _scandalous._ ”

Emma rolled her eyes good-naturedly, lightly hitting his arm. “Don’t start.”

“But look at all the _bowties,”_ Neal gasped mockingly, swiveling his head around.  “Are you seeing this, Em?”

“You’re hilarious.”

The hostess led them to a table closer to the center of the room, surrounded by tables with other well-dressed, wine-drinking couples, then signaled for a waitress to come over. 

Neal released Emma’s hand to pull out her chair. Emma raised her eyebrows as he tapped his fingers against it, clearing his throat.

“What’s this?”

“This is me being adorable,” Neal told her matter-of-factly. “Now, smile at my adorableness and take a seat.”

“ _Such_ a gentleman,” Emma snorted, obeying nonetheless. 

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he shrugged as he took his seat. 

“Mmm-hmm,” Emma said, smiling at the (also classy) waitress as she handed them their menus. “Thanks.”

“Can I start you off with some drinks?” she asked, straightening up and pulling out her notepad. “We have an excellent wine selection.”

“Uh…” Emma frowned at the menu. “I’m not much of a wine connoisseur.”

“Me, neither,” Neal mused. “We’ll come back to that.”

Emma shifted, feeling a little intimidated by the waitress for not knowing about wine. Classy people knew about wine, didn't they? Was the classy waitress judging her for not being classy enough to know about wine? “Actually, can we have a few minutes to decide?” she asked. 

“Oh, sure.” The waitress smiled, stepping back. “I’ll come back later.”

“All right. Stay awesome,” Neal told her, pointing at her. The waitress gave him a strange look over her shoulder, but Neal had already gone back to his menu.

“Fish looks good,” he remarked. “Lemon. I like lemon.”

“Fish…” Emma wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, now I’ve got a taste memory of Granny’s fish.

“Damn it, now _I’ve_ got a taste memory of Granny’s fish.” Neal exhaled disgustedly, shaking his head. “Tony should have been fired years ago.”

“Hook says Belle gets food poisoning every week from getting the hamburger,” Emma said. “Why does she keep getting it?”

“She’s got a hamburger fixation,” Neal shrugged.

“Yeah, but at least go for quality if you’re going to have a fixation,” Emma said reasonably. “Granny’s really should have been shut down years—“

Neal held up a finger, silently nodding to the right; Emma followed his line of vision to a couple at a nearby table. The man was on one knee, holding a ring box out to a half-laughing, half-sobbing woman while the waiter looked on with a huge smile on his face. 

“Yess!” the woman said, nodding profusely. “Yes, I will marry you!”

“And now we have to clap,” Neal sighed, half-heartedly putting his hands together as the entire restaurant exploded into a applause. Emma politely clapped along, but she couldn't help feeling annoyed: what, everyone had to put their evening on hold just because two assholes decided to become _married_ assholes?

“I will never understand the appeal of marriage,” Emma said as the applause died down, shaking her head. “Never.”

“Me, neither,” Neal said, going back to his menu. “It’s stupid. If two people really want to be together for the rest of their lives, they shouldn't need a legal obligation to do it.”

Emma lifted her eyebrows. “Says the guy who was _engaged_ three years ago.”

“That doesn't count,” Neal objected. “It was only Tamara.”

“Yeah, but you were engaged to her,” Emma persisted. “That means, you were prepared to spend the rest of your life with her.”

Neal frowned, slowly putting down his menu. “I thought we were past the Tamara-thing.”

 _Past the Tamara thing?_ Because it was really possible to get over something like that? “Maybe you are. I’m not,” Emma said, folding her arms. 

“Clearly.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Neal, but it bothers me,” Emma said defensively. 

“I don’t know why,” he said carefully. “Especially since we already discussed how she was a crazy bitch who shot me and manipulated me because she was working for my evil grandfather.”

“Yeah, but she wasn't always, was she?” Emma insisted. “You must have thought she was normal at first, it must have started off like a real relationship.”

“Emma….”

“I mean, why did you even ask her? You must have loved her at _some_ point.”

“Who says I asked her?” Neal said, raising his eyebrows. “She proposed to me.”

Emma blinked in surprise. She’d always just assumed… “But you still said _yes,_ “ she pointed out. “Even if you didn't do the asking, you were still ready to marry her.”

“It’s not like it was a big deal,” Neal said with a little shrug. “She pulled me aside one day, and said, ‘Hey, Neal, wanna get married?” and I figured, ‘What the hell?’ And so we were engaged. That’s it.”

“You figured, ‘What the hell?’” Emma repeated witheringly. “You put no thought whatsoever into a completely life-changing decision.”

“Not really.”

“Oh, come on,” she scoffed. “You don’t have to pretend it was nothing. I get it, okay? It hurts, but I get it. Life happens.”

Neal looked at her for a long time, his expression unreadable; although, she could see an almost-regretful look in his eyes. Emma stiffened, feeling wary.

“What?”

“No, it’s…” Neal frowned a little, dropping his eyes as he played with the little tassels on the menu. He was obviously avoiding her gaze, so Emma knew that whatever was going through his head, it was emotional. That was why he was having such a hard time: Neal wasn't good with expressing feelings. He always got confused and all turned around, trying to figure out a way to say them without really saying them.

“It’s what?” Emma prodded. “Tell me.”

Neal played with the tassels a little more, twirling them around his fingers. “I wasn't really aware of…you know, anything during that…time,” he said finally. “I was just going through the motions.”

Emma watched him twist the tassels until a string came loose; he started tugging at it, fraying the little little ribbons. 

“Tamara was just a random thing that happened,” he went on. “I wasn't paying attention, she just kind of walked into my life, and then she was just there. And I cared about her, in a really distracted, numb kind of way, but…” He gave a helpless little shrug.

“But what?” Emma raised her eyebrows. “Come on, Neal….Be a grown-up, just say it.”

“Emma…” Neal looked at her pleadingly. “You know I’m not good at this stuff. Can’t we just accept this as one of those unspoken-understanding things?”

Emma shook her head. “Not this time.”

Neal closed his eyes, exhaling. “All right,” he said after a minute. He tapped his fingers listlessly against the table, bracing himself. 

“So…First time you told me you loved me, was the day I found that flyer in the post office. I was all panicked and freaking out about going to Canada, and you were trying to calm me down and talking about stealing the watches for me. So then I got all panicked and freaking out about you stealing the watches, and you just—“ he waved his hand—“just came right out and said you loved me. And I remember—“ Neal cleared his throat, shifting his eyes to the ceiling. “I remember, I was so relieved that you said it first, ‘cause I’d been thinking it for a while, but I didn't want to make things weird…” 

Emma waited for him to go on, knowing that if she said anything now, he might lose his nerve. 

“Eleven years went by, and I just replaying that day over and over in my head. I got a job in the city, got an apartment, I had friends, Tamara—“ he shrugged dismissively. “I barely noticed. I wanted to look for you, but then I thought, no, she’s gonna hate me. So when I got a postcard from August, I didn't come to Storybrooke, because I figured I was the last person you’d want to see. And what if you’d found someone else? I wasn't going to come in and screw up your life for a second time. 

“So I stayed away. It killed me to do it, but I did. And then you found me in New York, and it was—“ Neal shook his head, sighing. “Well, it was a lot of things, but the thing that really sticks out in my head was that I knew the second I saw you, eleven years later…” Neal cleared his throat again. “Eleven years later, and I still loved you as much as I did that day with the watches. And I still do. And that’s it.” Neal nodded, as if silently reviewing everything he’d said. “Sincerely, Neal Cassidy.”

Emma looked at him, feeling her eyes prick with tears as she broke into a watery smile. “Oh, my God,” she said, fanning her eyes. “Neal…that was actually beautiful.”

“Well, don’t make a thing of it,” Neal muttered, handing her his napkin. Emma took it, giving a tearful laugh. 

“Why wouldn't you want to tell me something like that?” she asked, wiping under her eyes. “Why do I have to drag it out of you?”

“Em…” Neal groaned. “Please, I’m exhausted. I just talked for ten minutes straight about _feelings_.” 

“All right, all right,” she said, holding her hands up in surrender. “Can I just say one thing?”

“What?” he asked, sounding genuinely exhausted. 

Emma smiled, dropping her hands. “I still love you, too.”

And she did, she really did. She’d never stopped loving him: not when she was sitting in a jail cell, wishing she could forget him; not when she was sitting with him in a bar, trying to pretend he didn’t matter; not when she was on her way to the Echo Caves, almost wishing he was dead so she could lay the pain of everything between them to rest. The universe had seemed as intent on keeping them apart as it had on bringing them together. And finally— _finally_ —it seemed content to just let them be.

“So…” Neal started twirling the tassels again. “I think that makes…what, almost sixteen years between us?”

Emma looked at the ceiling as she counted back. “Henry’s going to be fifteen in January, so…yeah, almost sixteen years.”

Neal nodded slowly. “Pretty long time, huh?”

“Yeah…?” Emma smiled vaguely.

“Well—“ Neal cleared his throat. “I know how we both feel about certain things, but it occurs to me…there was a time when we talked about finding a place in Tallahassee. And now I’ve got this apartment…”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “I’m listening,” she said, propping her chin up with one hand. Neal fought a smile, abandoning the tassels to look up at her.

“Nothing. Just bragging about my new place.”

“Hmm.”

“‘Cause you’re stuck at your parents’.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Pretty pathetic for a woman in her thirties.”

“That’s true.”

Neal grinned. “I think we know where I’m going with this, Em.”

“We know,” she agreed. “But we want to hear you say it.”

“All right.” Neal shook his head, laughing a little. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, after I spent all last week telling everybody I wasn't going to do this, but…” He scratched the back of his head, uncharacteristically nervous.

“Come on,” Emma said, motioning for him to speak with her free hand. “Let’s go, Cassidy, I’m getting old here.”

“Okay, okay,” Neal said, holding up his hands. He looked at her for a minute, and took a deep breath. “Okay, so I’m just going to ask you.”

“Okay.”

“Here it comes.”

“I’m ready.”

“You want to move in?”

“Yep.”

“Good.” Neal dropped his hands, grinning. “Good.”

“This isn't too fast, right?” Emma asked, glancing up as the waitress came around to take their menus, promising to return soon to take their orders. “Sixteen years? We’re not rushing into this too soon, are we?”

“Meh—“ Neal shrugged. “The first time, it was only a couple of months, so I think we can swing sixteen years.”

“We should probably wait until after the holidays, though,” Emma said thoughtfully. “I feel like David’s head would explode if we spring this on him while he’s trying to generate enough Christmas spirit for the entire town. Do you know, he’s actually been blasting Christmas music so loudly, we’ve gotten complaints from out downstairs neighbors?”

Neal made a face. “Goddamn it. I was gonna start bringing my stuff in this weekend, but now…” He blew out a breath. “This is gonna suck. He already hates me, and now I have to—“

“He doesn’t hate you,” Emma cut in. “At least not right now, he doesn’t.”

Neal snorted derisively. “I’m sorry, were we talking to the same David earlier?”

“Well—“ Emma struggled to find a defense. “We don’t usually get all dressed up to go out, he was probably just—“

“Reacting to the fancy restaurant? It _is_ intimidating. I mean, the waiters even have _bowties._ ”

Emma closed her eyes exasperatedly. “You’re never going to let me live that down—noticing the bowties. That’s never gonna die, is it?”

“Never.”

 


	52. Chapter 52

Neal twirled his room key around his finger as he walked down the hall, humming to himself as he glanced around at the colored lights Ruby had strewn against the walls in a half-hearted attempt to be festive. 

He had to say, he was feeling pretty good right now. Normally, all that “ _feelings-crap_ ” made him feel physically ill: he’d spent so many years training himself to repress everything, because emotions made things messy and annoying and painful. But everything that had happened with Emma tonight…? Yeah. Yeah, he was feeling pretty good about that. Life was good. 

He was about to turn the corner to continue down the hall to his room, but stopped as sounds of what could only be described as a “kerfuffle” reached his ears. Neal frowned, turning his head to find the source of the noise.

It was coming from Ruby’s room: there was the sound of shouting voices (probably Granny and Hook arguing again), and then of something smashing against the wall. Neal stepped back as the door flung open, and Hook stormed out, glaring furiously. Neal caught a glimpse of Granny rolling her eyes before the door swung shut again, muffling Ruby’s angry retort. 

Hook glanced up as he reached Neal, his glare slightly relaxing as he slowed to meet him in the middle. “Hey,” he said, still sounding very grumpy. “You have fun tonight?”

“Yeah,” Neal said, his eyes darting between Hook and Ruby’s room curiously. “Uh—“ he jutted his thumb toward the door—“am I getting the story behind that, or…?”

“Later,” Hook growled. “I-I-I _can’t_ right now, okay? That woman is the most—!“ he squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his teeth, visibly shaking with rage—“I hate her, Neal! I _hate_ her!”

Neal raised an eyebrow. “…We _are_ talking about Granny, right?”

“Yes, we’re talking about Granny!” Hook flared. “Or as I like to call her, _Satan’s Mistress!”_

 _“_ Calm down,” Neal said, putting his hand on his shoulder as Hook started feverishly muttering under his breath. “Hook—“

“She keeps threatening to lay gypsy curses on me!” Hook spat venomously. “You don’t mess around with that shit, Neal! That decrepit old hag is _actually_ going to curse me!”

“That’s ridiculous. She was just saying that to get you all worked up,” Neal reassured him, though in all honestly, he wouldn't have put it past Granny to try and curse Hook. “Breathe, okay? You’re turning purple.”

“I’m _breathing!_ ” Hook inhaled and exhaled obnoxiously loudly. _“See?”_

“What happened?” Neal asked, staring at him in wonderment. “I mean, you’re practically foaming at the mouth.”

“She thinks that just because she owns the bloody place, she can come barging into any room she likes!” Hook said furiously. “I can’t stand it anymore, Neal! I have to get out of here, I _hate_ this place!”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious!” 

“I said, okay.”

“You know what?” Hook kicked the wall. “Fuck this place! I’m just going to move in with you! When do we leave?”

Neal stared at him. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m coming with you,” Hook decided. “You’re my best mate, Neal, and I can’t bear to live without you. So—“ he clapped his hand on Neal’s shoulder, raising his eyebrows—“when do we leave?”

“ _When do we_ —?” Neal shook his head in disbelief. “What do you mean, _we?_ There’s no _we_ leaving anywhere. _I_ am moving into _my_ new apartment this weekend.”

Hook narrowed his eyes. “There is no _‘I’_ in ‘ _team_ ’, Neal,” he said seriously. 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s an expression. It means, ‘let me come with you, or Granny and I are going to battle it out and only one of us will come out alive’.”

“Look, you’re going to have to make other arrangements, because I don’t have room for you.” Neal instantly regretted saying the words the minute they left his mouth: he and Emma had agreed to keep everything a secret, and he had just let slip a major clue. To _Hook,_ of all people.

Hook’s eyes lit up with intrigue, just as he’d expected. “No room?”

“I meant, there _will_ be no room,” Neal said hastily. “I’m setting aside a space for Henry, so he has somewhere to stay when he’s not with Regina. The loft is so crowded…”

Hook grinned, as though he didn't believe him. “Right. Henry. Okay.”

“It _is_ Henry.”

“‘Course it is. I’m sure Emma has nothing to do with this.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Right.”

“Seriously.”

“Oh, okay. Then maybe I _can_ move in after all. I mean, it would be weird if it were you and Emma, and then me the third wheel. But if it’s only Henry…” Hook’s smile widened triumphantly as Neal shifted uncomfortably. “It’s Emma, isn't it?”

“Hook—“

“I _knew_ it!”

“Okay, but listen to me—“ Neal grabbed Hook’s collar, pointing threatening a finger at him. “If you tell anyone about this, I’m going to _sic_ an angry, hormonal Regina on you, and she’s going to make Granny’s gypsy curses look like a tickle. Got it?”

“Oh, all _right,_ ” Hook said irritably, shrugging out of his grip. “Bloody hell, mate—“

They both jumped as Ruby’s door swung open violently. and she came storming out. Hook let out a startled yelp as she grabbed his wrist.

“Let’s go,” she said viciously.

“Wh-where are we going?” he stammered, nearly tripping as she pulled him after her.

“Somewhere else.”

“As in…?”

Neal didn't hear Ruby’s response, but he could hear Hook say hastily, “No, you’re right, you’re right.” 

“He is so whipped,” a woman’s voice scoffed. Neal whirled around, his eyes landing on a smirking Lily, leaning with folded arms against her doorframe.  

“Oh.” Neal grimaced. “It’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me.” Lily seemed highly amused to see him: her eyes gleamed, and the smile spread on her face. “Thought you had a date with Emma?”

“I did,” Neal said, putting his hands in his pockets to hide his fists. 

“Not very successful, then?”

He smiled coolly. “Actually, I’d say it was _very_ successful.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Lily shrugged. “I mean, it’s eleven-thirty, and you’re home alone. So, really, how successful could it have been?”

Neal raised his eyebrows. “You know what’s interesting? It’s eleven-thirty, and you’re home alone, too. ”

Lily narrowed her eyes, and was opening her mouth to retort when Ruby’s door opened for the third time and Granny stomped out.

“Do you know where she went?” she demanded, pounding toward them. “She’s not picking up her phone.”

“She went somewhere with Hook,” Neal said, instinctively stepping back: Granny looked ready to throw the next person who offended her across the room. “I don’t know where.”

Granny made an impatient noise, and turned to Lily. “Any ideas?”

“She said, ‘somewhere else’, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t.” Granny made a growling noise, shaking her head. “Oh, that man-whore is _so_ evicted. And Ruby—let me tell you something, that girl’s got another thing coming if she thinks she’s going to get away with this.”

Neal and Lily wisely kept their eyes down and their thoughts to themselves until Granny had left; Lily chanced a glance up as her stomping footsteps faded, exhaling slowly.

“Wow…She’s intense.” She shook her head. “I’d hate to be Ruby right now.”

“I don’t know. Ruby’s got a quite a temper herself.”

Lily smiled wryly. “You know who else had a temper?” she said. “Emma. Emma had a temper.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “She ever lose her temper with you?”

“Is that a euphemism?” Neal asked dryly. 

“Maybe.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, I don’t know what went on between you two, but—“

“You should probably talk to Emma, then,”  Lily said, lazily straightening up to return to her room. 

Neal flashed a sarcastic smile at her. “Thanks for the tip.”

“No problem,” she winked over her shoulder. “My pleasure.”

 

* * *

 

Hook silently side-eyed Ruby: she was glowering at the road and driving at a somewhat dangerous speed, muttering darkly under her breath. He opened his mouth, trying to summon the courage to ask her where they were going, but he knew by now that trying to talk to Ruby at a time like this was never a good idea. The woman would _literally_ bite you, wolf or not—and not in a good way, in a very painful way. 

Ruby made a sharp turn, glaring straight ahead. Hook leaned forward in his seat to peer out the window. 

“Hang on,” he frowned, recognizing the street they were on. “Why are we going to Belle and Rumple’s?”

Ruby didn’t answer until she pulled roughly into the driveway, ignoring Hook’s sharp intake of breath as she slammed on the brakes. She threw off the seatbelt and turned to him.

“You think Belle would let us crash here for a night?” she asked abruptly.

“I-I don’t know,” he stammered. “Maybe?”

“ _Maybe?_ ” she repeated witheringly. “ _Maybe,_ what the hell does that mean, _maybe?_ ”

“Hey,” Hook said, feeling rather alarmed. “Ruby, calm down.”

“Don’t ask me to calm down!” she flared. “It’s a full moon in two days, you _asshat!_ And I’ve got Granny _smothering_ me to death in that stupid inn, not to mention working in that _stupid_ diner with customers bitching at me all day, and you want me to calm down?”

“All right, all right. Breathe, darling,” Hook soothed, recalling Neal’s advice. “Breathe, breathe, breathe.”

“I _am_ breathing!” Ruby cried, breaking into tears.

“No, you’re not, you’re turning purple.” 

“No, I’m not,” she choked.

“Yes, you are.” Hook drew back to give her a considering look. “Actually, it’s a really lovely color on you.”

Ruby let out an unwilling laugh, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes, smearing mascara everywhere. “Damn it,” she sniffed, looking at her blackened hand. “Now my make-up’s all ruined.”

“Don’t you just hate it when that happens?”

Ruby gave him a tearful smile, which only lasted a few seconds before it faded. “Hook,” she said, her voice shaking. “I-I can’t stand it anymore. She’s driving me nuts, I can’t—“ 

“Breathe,” Hook reminded her as she started hyperventilating. “Ruby—“ He shifted in his seat awkwardly, trying to find a way to put his arm around her without sticking his hook in her neck. “Here—move up a little…little more, darling, I don’t want to kill you…there we go.”

Ruby calmed down a little, but her breaths were still shallow and rapid. “I can’t stand it,” she kept muttering. “I can’t stand it anymore.”

“I know,” Hook murmured into her hair (although, at this point, he wasn't quite sure what it was that she couldn't stand). “It’s all right, love.”

“She’s a crazy woman!” she whispered feverishly. 

“I know.”

“She says crazy things!”

“I know.”

“And she makes _me_ crazy!”

“I know.”

“What?”

“I mean, you’re pretty.”

He glanced down at his pocket as his phone. Ruby shifted over, looking around her shoulder.

“Who is it?”

“Belle,” he frowned, reading her text. “She wants to know why we’re sitting in her driveway.”  _Give me a minute,_ he typed back, and slid the phone back in his pocket. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll get her to let us in.”

 

* * *

 

_Give me a minute._

Belle raised an eyebrow at the text, and tossed her phone on the couch, getting up to go to the door. She squinted through the window, watching Hook and Ruby carefully make their way up the icy path. 

“What are they doing here so late?” she muttered, unlocking the door as they approached. She pushed the door open, hiding behind it to guard against the bitterly cold December air. “What? What do you want?”

“Let us in,” Hook said abruptly. 

“No. What do you want?”

“Let us in.”

“Why are you here?”

“Let us in.”

“Hook—“

“Let us in.”

“All _right!”_ she snapped, pulling the door open wider. “Here, get in!”

Hook smiled triumphantly, bumping Ruby with his elbow. “Told you.”

Belle stood back as they came in and started stamping their shoes on the mat to kick off the snow. “Go ahead, sit down,” she said, jutting her head toward the couch as she closed the door behind them.

“I could use a cup of tea,” Hook said hopefully, pulling Ruby down on the couch beside him as Belle wandered back to her chair. “Ruby, you want some tea?”

“Where’s your flask?” she said in a flat voice.

“In my jacket—“ Hook broke off with an exasperated sigh as Ruby immediately started rummaging in his pocket for the flask. “Don’t drink it all, okay?”

Ruby responded by throwing her head back and tilting the flask upside down. Belle’s eyebrows rose as she took one, two, three long sips before finally dropping the flask, exhaling loudly. Ruby glanced up at her, keeping a firm grasp on the flask.

“It’s been a rough night,” she explained, still a little breathless. Belle narrowed her eyes, sliding her gaze over to Hook.

“Do I _want_ to know what that means?”

Hook rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Belle.”

“It’s Granny,” Ruby answered, as if neither had spoken. “And living in her inn, and working in her diner, and trying not to suffocate under her reign of terror—I can’t stand it anymore.”

“Well—hang on, don’t cry,” Belle said, feeling alarmed as Ruby’s eyes shone dangerously. “Goddamn it, Ruby, don’t make me feel sorry for you.”

“You know what?” Ruby stood up, running her hand under her eyes, her voice threatening to break. “I’m going to go make the tea, okay?”

“I can do it,” Hook said, half-rising in his seat, but Ruby waved his words away, shaking her head.

“It’s all right, I got it,” she said, and started to walk away with his flask still in hand. Hook’s eyes followed it, and he tensed.

“Ruby—aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What? Oh—“ Ruby bent down and kissed him, before walking away with the flask again. Hook started to reach out for it, a helpless look on his face. 

“But…” He sighed heavily, dropping his hand. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You have separation anxiety,” Belle observed. “You literally have separation anxiety from your flask.”

“She’s going to drink the whole bloody thing,” Hook complained. “When Ruby gets like this, she could drink the ocean dry.”

“She gets like this a lot?” Belle asked, raising her eyebrows. 

“Just around the full moon,” Hook said wearily, leaning back in his seat. “Her emotions run really high, and she just gets super-intense…which, I have to say, isn't all bad—“

“And I’m going to stop you there,” Belle said over him, holding up her hand. “I really don’t need to hear about your sexcapades with your werewolf girlfriend, you two already freak me out enough.”

“Says the wife of Rumplestiltskin,” Hook muttered, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Anyways, I need a favor,” he said, sitting up. “Would you mind very much if me and Ruby crashed here for a night or two?”

Belle’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you insane?”

“Oh, come on, Belle,” he pleaded. “She’s spiraling into madness over there at Granny’s, she just needs a little break.”

“Hook—“ she started helplessly. 

“Please?” he wheedled, turning on the puppy-dog eyes. “Oh, please, please, please, _please?_ ”

“Rumple’s going to flip—“

“It’s just for a night or two. Come on, Belle.”

Belle sighed desperately. “You’re really putting me on the spot here.”

“Look—“ Hook shifted his eyes quickly to the side, as if to check Ruby wasn’t listening. “If you do this for me, I’ll tell you a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Trust me, it’s a good one,” he said conspiratorially. “I’m not supposed to breathe a word about this, on pain of Regina’s wrath.”

Belle sat up, intrigued. “Who’s it about?”

“Neal,” he said promptly.

“ _Neal?_ ”

“Neal.”

“What about Neal?”

“Not telling.” Hook folded his arms, leaning back against the sofa. “Unless…”

 _Damn him,_ she thought darkly. “Give me a hint.”

“No. Shan’t.”

Belle gritted her teeth, kneading her hands into fists. On the one hand, she really didn't think it was a good idea to let Hook and Ruby stay: it was always risky, leaving those two in a room alone with their hormones; not to mention, Rumple waking up to seeing Hook sitting across him at the breakfast table; and then, there was the potential of starting a war with Granny, which scared her more than anything…

But gossip about Neal? Neal _never_ had gossip, this was a rare treat! And no one was supposed to know about it, that made it even better!

How could she resist that?

“All right,” Belle said, leaning forward in her seat. “You can stay.”

Hook grinned. “Thank you, you truly are a—“

“Yeah, okay, shut up now,” she said impatiently. “Tell me.”

“Okay, but you can’t tell _anyone._ Not even Tink. Well—“ he interrupted himself, scoffing—“especially not Tink.”

“I promise,” she lied. “I won’t breathe a word.”

 


	53. Chapter 53

“Neal and Emma are moving in together and no one’s supposed to know about it!”

Tink stared at Belle across the kitchen table, lowering her still-full fork. “Come again?”

“Neal and Emma are moving in together and no one’s supposed to know about it!” Belle repeated at top-speed.

Tink blinked at her a few times. “They’re…” She slammed her hands down on the table, making the cups and plates rattle. “ _They’re moving in together?_ ”

“And no one’s supposed to know about it!” Belle said breathlessly. Tink swore violently, wrenching herself away from the table. 

“ _Goddamn it! God-fucking-damn it! Why the—GODDAMN IT!”_

“Tink—“ Belle stood up from the table, coming over to put a calming hand on her shoulder. “Shut up, okay? You’re going to wake everyone up.”

“Too late for that,” Hook grumbled, pushing open the kitchen door; Ruby followed blearily in his wake, yawning into her hand. “Bloody hell, you two, what are you shouting about at this hour of the day?”

Tink opened her mouth furiously, but Belle quickly clamped her hand over it. “You can’t tell him I told you!” she hissed in her ear. “Or he’s never going to tell me anything again!”

Tink glowered, but gave her a reluctant nod, allowing Belle to lower her hand safely. Hook seemed not to notice, peering into the coffee pot as if hoping he could simply _make_ it appear. 

“You ready to go back yet?” he asked Ruby, frowning at the pot and shaking it upside down. “Someone remind me how to make coffee, I can’t figure these bloody things out.”

“Here,” Ruby sighed, taking it from him. “I’ll show you again.”

Hook stood back as she filled it with water, nearly treading on Tink’s toes. “Well, get out of the way, then!” he snapped as Tink hissed at him. “Midget.”

“Transvestite.”

“Hobbit.”

“Slut.”

“Hey!” Hook said severely “That’s _both_ of us!”

“Are you going back to Granny’s?” Belle asked Ruby, stepping out if the way as Hook and Tink struggled against each other, trying to trod on the other’s toes. Ruby looked over her shoulder at Belle, before going back to scooping out coffee. 

“Guess I’ll have to,” she said wearily. “Don’t have anywhere else to go. Snow’s is too crowded, and Neal’s not even moved in yet.”

Belle nodded slowly. “So… what exactly—shut up, you two—what exactly happened last night that you had to leave?”

Ruby sighed, flipping the switch to start the percolator, and leaned against the counter. “We were in my room, going through all the stuff I got for everyone on Black Friday—“

Belle made air-quotes, raising an eyebrow questioningly; Ruby shook her head.

“We were literally going through Christmas presents, I swear. But of course, Granny just assumes…” Ruby glowered at the wall, making a noise like an angry cat. “Like it’s any of her business, either way. I mean, I pay rent like any other tenant, it’s not like she’d just barge into any of _their_ rooms. But she thinks that she can do whatever she wants, if it’s me. She thinks she has the right to completely control me, and I—I can’t stomach it anymore.”

Belle frowned, squirming against her growing sympathy for Ruby. “Sounds like my dad,” she said grudgingly. “He wanted to control everything I thought or did, tried to keep me from Rumple, tried to literally wipe my memory out…”

“Oh, yeah, I remember that.”

Belle looked at the ground awkwardly. “So I—I get it, you know? It sucks. And, uh—“ she shook her head, hardly believing it as the words came out of her mouth—“this is going to sound weird, but if you need a place to stay, there’s an apartment above the library that I don’t use anymore.”

Ruby’s eyes widened. “You mean…?”

Belle nodded, avoiding her gaze as much as she could.

“Oh, my God—Belle, thank you so much, I can’t even begin to—“

“Yeah, whatever,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “Don’t make a big thing of it, I still hate you, okay?”

Ruby nodded, positively beaming at her. 

“All right,” Belle sighed, and jutted her head toward Hook. “Go on, go celebrate.”

Ruby let out a shriek of delight and ran over to Hook, throwing her arms around his  neck.

“Whoa—!” Hook looked startled, taking a step back to balance them. “What? What is it?”

“Belle said I could have her library apartment!” Ruby squealed. “I don’t have to go back to Granny’s!”

“She did?” Hook raised an eyebrow at Belle over Ruby’s shoulder. “Really?”

“It’s Christmas,” Belle said vaguely, waving her hand. “Peace and good will, all that bullshit.”

“Thank you so much for being friends with her!” Ruby  started pressing kisses all over Hook’s face. “Thank you—thank you—thank you—“

The door swung open, and Rumple shuffled in, still in his bathrobe and slippers.

“Morning, Belle,” he said sleepily, barely glancing at the others as he went over to the table and pulled a chair out.“Morning, Tink. Morning, Ruby. Hook, I was hoping you’d died during the night, but nice to see you up and about.”

Rumple had been surprisingly accepting of them staying the night. On his way down for his midnight cereal, he’d found Hook and Ruby sitting across from Belle with their cups of tea. At first, Belle had been afraid he’d throw them out, but he only made a comment vaguely alluding to STD’s Hook might have contracted before taking a seat beside him to watch _Sixty Minutes_ and eat his Shredded Wheat. 

“You want some coffee, Rumple?” Belle asked, grimacing as Ruby’s gratitude got a little too enthusiastic. “Or some antacid for nausea?”

“I’ll take some coffee,” he yawned, flipping out his newspaper. “And Ruby, dearie, do be careful—you don't know where he’s been.”

“I can tell you where he’s been—“

“Thank you, Tink!” Belle said loudly. “Here, have some coffee, okay?”

Tink shrugged, walking around Hook and Ruby to the seat across from Rumple. She blew out a breath, drumming her hands on the table; Rumple glanced up awkwardly, and offered Tink an uncomfortable smile.

“How are you?” he asked politely. 

“I’ll tell you how I am, guy. I’m jonesing for some of that Neal-Cassidy-action Emma’s getting.”

Rumple choked on his coffee, sputtering it out all over his newspaper. Tink looked on dully as he pounded on his chest and coughed violently.

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. 

“Why do you always do that to me?” Rumple cried, holding his chest. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” Tink muttered darkly, her eyes flickering toward Belle. “Nothing at all.” She picked up the fork from her now-cold plate of food, and started stabbing at the eggs. “These are disgusting,” she declared abruptly, and tossed the fork down. “I’m going to Granny’s.”

“Wait—what?” Belle blinked as Tink stood up from the table and yanked her coat off the rack. “Tink?”

“Granny’s!”

Hook broke apart from Ruby, looking over his shoulder as Tink disappeared through the door. “Granny’s?” he repeated, somewhat vacantly. “Hang on—Ruby, don’t you have to go to work?”

Ruby shrugged. “I’m taking a day off.”

“Okay, but—“ Hook pulled away from her, bracing his hand on her shoulder. “Ruby, you can’t just skip work. Your gran’s already livid, she’s going to bloody fire you—“

“I’m sick.” Ruby faked a cough into her fist, then looked up with a smile. “And if I remember correctly, you sometimes go by ‘Dr. Jones’—“

“Oh, Good God in Heaven!” Rumple shouted, covering his ears. “It’s not even nine in the morning, and I already feel like my mind’s been raped a million times over!”

“Don’t slam against my walls!” Belle hollered as Ruby pulled Hook out the door. “And if you break anything, you buy it!”

 

* * *

 

Tink slammed the door behind her, nearly shattering the little bell. She stopped for a minute, squinting across the room: Regina was sitting in of the back booths, Robin on her left.

Tink strode over, and crammed herself into the booth, ignoring the surprised gasps of the two women she’d shoved into. “Well, my life sucks,” she said without preamble.

“Who is this curious little creature?” the woman in furs asked, staring wonderingly at Tink. 

“Uh, Cruella—Ursula—“ Regina cleared her throat and nodded at Tink. “This is Tink. Tink, this is Cruella and Ursula.”

“Yes, we were just getting to know Regina’s charming little person, Robin,” Cruella said, flourishing a hand at him. “He really is a darling, don’t you think?”

“Oh, you—“ Robin smiled bashfully, batting his hand. “Cruella, darling, you’re going to make me blush.”

“You’re already blushing, darling!”

“Okay, darlings,” Tink said loudly before Robin could respond. “Regina, I got troubles.”

“Tink, I’m kind of in the middle of something,” Regina muttered through clenched teeth, moving her eyes meaningfully between Cruella and Ursula. “Maybe you want to come back later?”

“Neal’s moving in with Emma.” Tink said abruptly (Robin gasped and slopped coffee all over himself). “Any chance you can curse that bitch?”

“Oh, I like her,” Ursula said with a sly smile. “What did you say your name was, honey?”

“It’s Tink, and my life sucks. Nice to meet you.”

“Charmed,” Cruelle said, extending an elegant hand. “And who’s Neal? The name is familiar, though I have no recollection of the poor bastard.”

“He’s only the goddamn sexiest man in the universe, that’s who he is,” Tink scoffed. 

“Hmm,” Cruella smiled blandly. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“He’s the scruffy guy who helped us with the suitcases, right?” Ursula frowned. “Always looks like he just rolled out of bed?”

“Wouldn’t mind if he just rolled out of _my_ bed,” Tink said immediately, making Regina gag on the coffee she just drank. 

“ _Tink!_ ”

“Oh, _him,_ ” Cruella said with dawning comprehension. She turned to Ursula, lowering her voice. “He’s the one Lily mentioned, the boyfriend.” She looked back at Tink, resting her chin intriguingly in her hand. “So, you don’t care for this Emma girl, do you, darling?”

“No, I don’t,” Tink spat. “What does he see in that skinny bitch, anyway?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” Cruella said delightedly. “Oh, Tink, darling, you really are a treasure!”

“Thanks.”

“Ursula, don’t you think she’s just charming?”

“She’s sassy,” Ursula grinned. “I like that.”

“And what a funny little thing!”

“Thanks.”

“Regina, darling, wherever did you find her? She’s absolutely fascinating!” Cruella looked at her as though she were some kind  of china doll (albeit, one who walked and talked and spat out a string of curses and explicit jokes). 

Robin was still gasping and sputtering in the background, which all four women ignored in favor of Tink’s apparently fascinating account of the gossip.

“Neal told Hook, Hook told Belle, Belle told me, and no one’s supposed to know,” Tink said, inviting herself to Cruella’s coffee. “I’ll you what, Emma better watch out, because I’m going to put that little slut in the ground! Stealing Neal from me!”

“What _steal_?” Regina scoffed, flipping her hand open questioningly. “There was no stealing. You’ve never _had_ him.”

“And what a shame that is.”

“Tink, I swear to God—!” Regina hissed. “I’ve already got morning sickness, I do _not_ need your help!”

“Eww,” Tink complained. “Gross, Regina’s talking about her pregnancy again.”

“Oh, darling, please,” Cruella said, wrinkling her nose. “I’d rather not talk about unborn offspring, it’s so tedious.”

“Bad enough talking about _born_ offspring,” Ursula agreed. “People seemed to think the subject of their own children is as fascinating to the rest of us as it is to them—“

“—even though I can’t think of a duller moment spent—“

“—other than talking to the child itself—“

“—that nauseating baby-speak—“

“—drives me nuts—“

“—as if I could be bothered what it’s favorite color is—“

“—or how high they can jump—“

“—you don’t see _me_ bragging about high _I_ can jump—“

“—inconsiderate little cretins—“

“—other than our darling Lily, of course—“

“—although, we missed the early years—“

“—just enjoyed the disgruntled teenage years—“

“—and now the bitter adult years!” Ursula finished, clinking her cup triumphantly against Cruella’s. 

Tink and Regina stared at them for a minute, blinking bewilderedly. 

“Wow,” Tink said finally. “That was weird.”

“They do that a lot,” Regina muttered. “Get used to it.”

“It’s weird,” Tink repeated to them, leaning in confidentially. “But you two pull it off, so kudos to you-dos.” She turned back to Regina abruptly, raising her eyebrows. “So, you want to curse Emma for me or what?”

“No, I’m not going to curse Emma,” she said exasperatedly. “I already told you, you’re going to have to get past it. They’re happy—leave them alone.”

“Okay, but plenty of ‘happy guys’ have a bit on the side,” Tink insisted. “I could be that bit!”

“No. You couldn’t.”

“I could if you curse Emma. Then Neal will need a shoulder to cry on, and then he’ll need—“

“I’m not going to let you finish that sentence,” Regina said loudly, holding up a hand. “I don’t want to see where your depraved little mind takes that. Tink, you’ve got to move on, okay? It’s not going to happen.”

“Never say never,” Tink said staunchly. “Curse Emma.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“But—“

“You know what you need, darling?” Cruella cut in swiftly, pointing a shrewd finger at her. Tink glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “A distraction.”

“I’ve got plenty of distractions on speed-dial, thanks,” Tink said blandly. “I’m bored of them.”

“Oh, you’re _incorrigible_!” Cruella laughed, touching her shoulder. “What a precious little creature! Regina, she’s a riot!”

“Thanks,” she said flatly. 

“ _Neal’s moving in with Emma?_ ”

They all four frowned, swiveling their heads toward Robin: he was still gaping with wide eyes, holding his chest and drawing in gasping breaths. 

“Jesus, Robin, where you been?” Tink asked, annoyed. “That’s all we’ve been talking about for the past fifteen minutes.”

“I-I-I’m sorry, my mouth only just caught up with my brain—“ Robin broke off, shaking his head in wonderment. “My God, this is _unbelievable!_ I never thought—I mean, _Neal_ of all people—how is this— I have to talk to Hook!” he said feverishly, rummaging frantically in his jacket for his phone.  “I mean, this is _huge!_ ”

“He’s not going to answer,” Tink told him, taking a sip of Cruella’s coffee. “Judging from what I heard on my way out of the house, _Dr. Jones_ is on call.”

Robin made a face. “Oh, God, not Dr. Jones,” he complained as Regina shook her head, scoffing contemptuously. “Damn it, Tink, don’t tell me things like this.”

“You asked,” she shrugged.

“Actually, I didn’t, thanks,” Robin said irritably, and turned his phone sideways to type on the keyboard. “I’ll text him, then. He can answer me later—no, no, he _will_ answer me later because we have to bloody talk about this. I mean, _Neal!_ Moving in with _Emma!_ Especially with how he was going on about it last week? And Hook! Hook, that little—!“ He shook his head furiously. “He should have bloody told me! I can’t believe I had to find this out from _you!”_

 _“_ Hey,” Tink said, stung. “It’s not my fault, don’t yell at me.”

“Is that why Ruby’s not in today?” Regina asked disinterestedly, sipping her coffee. “Or did Granny finally fire her?”

“No way Ruby’s getting fired before Tony,” Robin snorted. “At least she’s pretty, gets the guys to come in. Tony is one ugly bloke, let me tell you.”

Tink sucked in a breath as Regina frowned deeply, slowly turning her head toward Robin; he seemed not to notice, typing rapidly into the phone. 

“… _call me back immediately,_ ” he murmured as he finished his text. “There! Now I’ve sent him  _scathing_ message, and—“ he jumped at Regina’s glare. “Good God, what is it?”

“You think she’s pretty?” Regina demanded. 

“What?”

“Ruby, you think she’s pretty?”

“Oh, darling…” Cruella shook her head as Robin looked around helplessly. “I fear for you.”

“Poor Robin,” Ursula cooed. “I was really starting to like him.”

“We’ll need a new pet,” Cruella sighed. 

“They’re so hard to come by, though…”

“Don’t kill him, Regina, he’s too adorable.”

“I’m not going to kill him,” Regina said, though she was glaring at him so dangerously, Robin was quivering. “Come on, Robin. Let’s go for a walk.”

“Around witnesses?” Robin asked hopefully, getting up on shaking legs to follow her out of the booth. “Regina?”

“Define _‘witnesses’.”_

Robin gulped. “Pray for me, Tink,” he said in a low voice, his hand brushing over her shoulder as he followed Regina out. Tink twisted around to watch them go and shook her head, letting out a low whistle.

“Idiot,” she said, sliding into Regina’s now-vacant booth. “You don’t piss off a hormonal Regina, that’s just common sense.”

“He’s a bit dim-witted,” Cruella said fondly. “But endearingly so.”

“It’s kind of funny,” Ursula smiled. “A little sad.”

“Well, for him, not for us—“

“—not good news for Regina or the baby—“

“—it’s a gamble, it either gets Regina’s brains or his—“

“—one can only hope for the poor dear, it’s Regina’s…”

Tink closed her eyes, sinking back into her seat as they started finishing each other’s sentences again. Goddamn it…was it going to be like this the whole morning?

 

* * *

 

“Ruby—Ruby, watch for the—!“ his head crashed against the picture frame—“ _Bloody hell!”_

“Oh, my God, are you okay?”

“It hurts…oh, it hurts.”

“Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?”

“I don’t think think you can kiss a concussion better, darling.”

Ruby stood back, watching him with a worried expression as he rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry.”

Hook sighed, lowering his hand even though the his head still rang with a dull ache. “You know, maybe we should take it easy until after wolfs-time has passed. I’m going to get seriously injured one of these days.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, following him as he went to sit on the bed. “Do you need some ice?”

“No, I’ll be all right.” He blinked a few times as little stars punctured his vision, vaguely wondering if he could make a wish on each of them and have it come true. He frowned as the thought crossed his mind. “Perhaps I won’t.”

There was a little ringing sound to the left; he cocked his head, trying to decide whether or not he was hallucinating the noise. “What _is_ that horrible sound?”

“My phone,” Ruby sighed, stretching across the bed to pick it up from the nightstand. She glanced at the screen, and rolled her eyes. “It’s Granny,” she said, tossing it back.

Hook made a noise like an angry cat. “ _Granny._ What does that old hag want?”

“Probably to bitch at me about leaving.” Ruby put on a falsetto voice. “ _Ruby Lucas, you get your skinny ass back here and be my slave, so I can pay you next to nothing and breathe down your neck for the rest of your life!”_

“Are you going to let her figure it out on her own, that you’re not going back? Or are you going to make a dramatic scene at the diner? I mean, a perfectly reasonable scene at the diner?” he amended hastily as Ruby glared at him. 

“You mean, like the dramatic scene you make every time Ursula walks in?” she said acidly. 

“Self-preservation is not a laughing matter, love. That woman will skin me alive, if she gets the chance.” Hook lifted his chin, sniffing. “I should hope that would upset you.”

“Of course it would,” Ruby said absently, looking around as someone’s phone buzzed. “Is that mine or yours?”

“Mine,” Hook said, already taking his phone out of his jacket pocket. “Probably Robin.”

“Robin?”

“He’s taken to sending me a ‘Happy Christmas’ text every morning,” Hook explained, rolling his eyes. “Idiot.”

“Can I see?” Ruby smiled, leaning to look over his shoulder, but Hook jerked away, shielding the text from her eyes. 

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly—too quickly. Ruby’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“What are you hiding?” She reached for the phone, but Hook held it behind his back.

“Really, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Hook—“

“Hey, remember what I said about taking it easy? That was stupid, forget that, why don't we— _Ruby!”_

She’d snatched the phone from him, and stood up quickly, her frown deepening as she read the text. “ _‘You wanker, why didn't you tell me about Neal and Emma moving in? Why didn't Neal tell me? Why do you two keep secrets from me? Call me back later, and happy fucking Christmas—‘_ What is this?” she demanded, throwing the phone back at him. 

“How did he find out?” Hook muttered to himself, fumbling to catch the phone. “He’s probably got a bloody network of spies around the town, gossipy little prat that he is.”

“‘Neal and Emma moving in’— what is he talking about? What’s—?” Ruby’s eyes went round, and she gasped. “Oh, my God, are they _moving in together?_ ”

Hook eyed her warily: this was _quite_ a predicament he found himself in. If he said “yes”, she would get upset that Robin knew about it before her, because he should have told her the _minute_ he found out (apparently). But if he said “no”, she would get upset that he was lying. 

“They make a lovely couple, don’t they?” he said at last, smiling nervously.

“You _knew_ and you didn’t _tell me?_ ” 

“It was an accident! I-I wasn't supposed to find out!”

“Hook!” Ruby gaped at him. “I tell you _everything!_ And you keep something this big from me, and you tell Robin instead?”

“Technically—“ Hook pointed at the phone—“I told Belle, and Robin somehow found out. See, he clearly states that he’s mad because I _didn’t_ tell him—“

“You told _Belle_ and not me?” 

“I—“ Hook bit his lip, shrinking under the force of Ruby’s glare. _Shit._ Was there a way out of this? 

Ruby’s eyes narrowed to slits as the silence lengthened. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” 

“Ruby…” Hook stood up, watching helplessly as she crossed the room to snatch up her coat and purse. “Where are you going?”

“To David and Snow’s,” she said shortly, throwing her coat over her shoulder. “And then I’m going to Granny’s to start moving my stuff into Belle’s apartment.”

“Why are you going to David and Snow’s?” Hook frowned, immediately blocking the door as she moved toward it. “You can’t tell them.”

“Like hell I can’t,” she scoffed. “Get out of my way.”

“No—Ruby—“ Hook braced himself against the door. “David’s going to blow his lid. He’s going to call Emma and bitch until he’s blue in the face, and then she’s going to bitch at Neal until s _he’s_ blue in the face, and then Neal’s going to _sic_ Regina on me and I’m going to die, and won’t you miss me?”

“I don’t know. _We’ll see._ ”

“Ruby,” he implored, taking her hand between his own and his hook. “At least let me talk to Neal first, give me some time to find someone else to blame because—I won’t  lie to you, darling, I fear Neal’s wrath, he gets very shouty sometimes—“

Ruby jerked her hand away. “I’m mad at you right now,” she warned. “Now, get out of my way.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” he said desperately. “It’s not even that big a deal—“

“ _Full moon tomorrow_ ,” she reminded him icily. “Do you know what that means?”

Hook nodded miserably.

“ _Nuclear PMS,_ ” she hissed, answering anyway. “So if there’s anyone’s wrath you should be fearing right now, it’s mine.”

Without warning, she grabbed the handle and ripped the door open, sending Hook flying forward. He scrambled to his feet, cursing, as she stormed down the stairs and shouted something at Belle and Rumple about running some errands.

“Don’t let her leave!” Hook yelled frantically, even as the door swung open and Ruby’s boots stomped out. “Ruby, you can’t tell them! Just give me ten minutes— _DAMN IT!”_

He fumbled for his phone, his hand shaking as he tried to punch in Neal’s number. Oh, _shit…._ He was going to kill him—no, no, he was going to let _Regina_ kill him. Damn it, Robin! How did he bloody _know_ in the first place? And to put sensitive information like that into a _text?_ Moron!

“Come on, Neal, please pick up, please pick up…” he muttered anxiously. “Come on, please…”

“ _I’m sorry. But the number you are trying to reach—“_

 _“_ Oh, shut up!” he snapped at the answering service, and lowered the phone to punch in Emma’s number. “Okay, Emma, be my best fried and pick up…pick up…pick up the goddamn phone—!” He swore violently as the answering service came on again. Now what?

 _Lily,_ he thought immediately. He could call Lily, and she could pass Neal the phone, and then Hook could make a proper plea for his life…

She picked up on the second ring. “Who is this?” she asked, without so much as a “hello”. 

“It’s Hook.” 

“Ugh.”

“Thanks. Listen, I need a favor.”

“Why would I help you?”

Hook gritted his teeth. “Because it’s Christmas, and peace and goodwill toward all men.”

Lily let out a dry laugh. “Not really interested in men.”

“Shocking,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Could you just see if Neal’s in his room, and pass the phone over? I need to talk to him.”

“What am I, your secretary? Call him on his own phone.”

“I _did._ And I tried Emma’s. They’re not picking up.”

“Yeah—“ Lily’s voice moved away from the phone, presumably as she leaned to get a better look. “They’re packing his stuff into boxes right now, they probably can’t even hear their phones ringing.”

“Yes, I _know,”_ Hook said impatiently. “That’s why I’m asking you to pass the phone over.”

“Hey, can I ask you something about Emma?” He heard the sound of a door closing, and Lily lowered her voice. “How serious is she about this Neal guy?”

“I—“ Hook shook his head incredulously. “What?”

“Well, you hang out with them, right? How serious are they?”

“Are you going to let me talk to him or not?” he demanded.

“Probably…not.”

“Aargh!” Hook shouted frustratedly, hanging up the phone. He paced quickly, running an anxious hand through his hair. _Think!_ he ordered himself. _Think! Think! Think—oh, no, my hair’s mussed_ (as he passed the mirror). _Think!_

There was nothing for it. He was going to to have to go down there himself, and remind Neal and Emma how  much they loved him and to please not set Regina’s righteous fury on his miserable soul. So long as he got there before David had a chance to get to them, he might have a chance. 

But he had to hurry, he told himself as he pounded down the stairs. At some point, Neal and Emma were going to be done with the boxes and hear their phones, and if David was on the other end… No, he mustn’t think about that: thinking about his own death was too heartbreaking. He was one of his own favorite people; he would miss himself too terribly, should anything unfortunate befall him (something unfortunate was definitely going to befall Robin, once he got ahold of him, though).

“Belle—!” Hook skidded into the kitchen, clawing the doorframe with his hook to keep from slipping. “Damn it!”

“You _moron!”_ Rumple cried, horrorstruck by his now-splintered doorframe. “Don’t break my house!”

“Shut up, crocodile!” Hook snapped.

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t bloody know, stop asking me! Belle—“ Hook turned to her wildly. “Belle, I need you to drive me to Granny’s.”

“What, now?” Belle looked down at her half-finished breakfast, and back up at Hook miserably. “Can’t you just walk?”

“Walk? In _this_ weather?” Hook gasped, outraged. “I’ll _freeze_ to death!”

“Would that be so terrible?” Rumple growled into his cup.

“Just to spite you, I’ll die in your driveway,” Hook warned him. 

“Oh, Merry Christmas to me,” he smiled nastily. 

“Shut _up,_ crocodile!”

“Both of you, stop!” Belle stood up, throwing her napkin down. “Hook, get your coat, we’ll go to Granny’s. And Rumple, stop muttering under your breath. _Honestly—_ “ she huffed, stalking across the room to yank her coat off the rack—“the two of you are like a pair of twelve-year-olds!”

Hook and Rumple glowered at each other, until Belle grabbed Hook’s wrist and pulled him after her.

“Hey!” Rumple yelled, hurrying after them to get the last word in. “They’ve invented a new thing— _buttons!_ Try one, sometime! You look like a whore!”

“You look like Smeagol’s love child with a leprechaun!”

“You’re both idiots!” Belle declared, slamming the door shut before either could say another word. “Goddamn, it’s freezing!”

“And you wanted me to walk…”

Belle glared at him from the side as they trudged to the car. “You know, Rumple’s got a point,” she said, swinging her door open and sliding in. “You can afford doing up an extra button or two. It’s fucking December.”

“It’s called ‘style’, darling. Heard of it?”

“You look like a slut.”

“I _am_ a slut.”

“Oh, yes. We know. We _all_ know.” Belle spared him a look of disgust as she drove out onto the road. “What the hell _is_ it with you and Ruby, anyway? Why do you guys have to be so—?”

“Affectionate?”

“I was going to say, ‘disgusting’.”

“The heart wants what it wants,” Hook said vaguely, frowning out the window. “Can’t you go any faster?”

“I’m already at the speed limit!”

“What, you’re going to let a little _sign_ tell you what to do? Step on it, woman! It’s a matter of life and death!”

“Yeah, so is this!” Belle snapped. “Don’t yell at me when I’m driving!”

“Aargh!” Hook shouted, throwing his head back. “Why did you have to bloody tell him in the first place?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Robin!” he said furiously.  “Why’d you have to tell Robin, you _know_ that idiot will go blabbing it all over town—!”

“I didn't tell Robin, I told Tink!” Belle said indignantly. “And you’re one to talk, you weren't supposed to tell me, either!”

Hook didn’t have a response to that; he just folded his arms tightly across his chest and glared out the window. 

Belle kept up a steady stream of disgruntled criticisms during the drive, all of which seemed to be centered around either his slutty attire, slutty behavior, and general stupidity: “You know, you can just _tell_ us you have chest hair—you don't have to prove it!”, and “It’s at the point where I’m embarrassed to be seen with you in public! You’re as bad as Tink!”, and “It’s like you’re making an effort to increase the amount of stupid in this world! Well, congratulations— _you did it!”_ By the time they’d pulled up to Granny’s, his feelings were thoroughly hurt and he was seriously judging himself. 

But he could think about that later: right now, he had a life to save— _his._

He flung open the door, and raced inside, ignoring Granny’s shouts of, _“Where’s my granddaughter, manwhore?_ ” He nearly tripped going up the stairs, his feet scrabbling against them; he reached the landing, and pounded down the hall, skidding to turn the corner—

“ _Shit!”_

His head had collided with someone else’s, and a wave of pain rocked his head back. He shut his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth against the ache in his head. This was the _second_ time in less than an hour that he’d possibly suffered a concussion.

He slowly cracked his eyes open, still wincing, to see Emma rubbing her head; Neal was beside her, concernedly turning her face up to the light.

“Move your hand, I can’t see,” he was saying to her, prying her hand away. “Emma— _ouch._ Yeah, that’s going to need some ice.”

“What about me?” Hook asked, tilting his head back.

“What _about_ you?” Emma snapped. “You’re the one who crashed into me!”

“Yeah, and it bloody hurt!” Hook shot back. “I didn't do it on purpose, did I? Neal, have a look for me—do I need ice?”

“You’re fine.”

“You didn't even look!”

Neal exhaled frustrated, and whirled around, bracing Hook’s head tightly with both hands. Hook waited while he held it up to the light.

“Well?”

“It’s a little red, nothing serious. You’ll live.”

“Will I?” Hook muttered as Neal released him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lily watching the scene through the crack in her door. He wasn't sure, but he thought he could see her rolling her eyes at Neal brushing his hand against Emma’s forehead, advising her to ice it.

“And you,” he added to Hook. “Stop being so… _you,_ okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll do my best,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Listen, Neal—I’ve got to tell you something.”

“Why don’t you go get me some ice?” Emma said, nudging Hook. “My head seriously hurts, I think I’ve got a concussion or something.”

“You’re a hypochondriac. I need to talk to you guys—“ He guided them back into Neal’s room, ignoring their protests. “Away from _prying eyes,_ ” he added as they passed Lily’s room.

“Hook—“

“Stop being weird—“

“— _ouch!_ Dude, I’m bleeding now, ‘cause of your stupid hook!”

“You’re a hypochondriac, Emma!” Hook snapped, slamming the door behind them. “You are _not_ bleeding!”

“Oh, yeah? Then what’s _that?”_

Hook bent down, peering at her arm. “A freckle.”

“No, it’s—! Oh.” Emma frowned, brushing her fingers over the little spot on her arm. “Huh. How about that.”

“Shut up, darling, this is important.” Hook put an arm around each of them, pretending not to notice as they tried to squirm away. “I want you both to know that I love you. Almost as much as myself. Not quite, because frankly, I’m far more beautiful than either of you—“

Emma and Neal started muttering mockingly under their breath; Hook raised his voice.

“But I digress. Anyways, I love both of you, and I hope you love me, because sometimes the people you love do stupid things, and I’ve…done a stupid thing. _Don’t_ make a Ruby-joke, Emma, or I will be very cross,” he added, seeing the look on her face. 

“What did you do?” Neal frowned suspiciously, stepping away from his arm. “Did you…? You didn’t… you didn’t _tell people?_ ”

“No! Well, maybe…” Hook shifted nervously, looking between the two of them: Neal’s face darkening, Emma’s eyes darting confusedly between them. 

“Hook,” Neal glowered, stepping threateningly toward him. “What did you do?”

Hook backed against the door fearfully. “It was an accident!” he whispered. “I didn't mean to!”

“ _Didn’t mean to?_ ”

“I only told Belle!” Hook said frantically. “But somehow it got out, and Robin knows and Ruby knows, and she’s gone over to David and Snow’s—“

“ _DAVID KNOWS?_ ”

“I’m sorry!” he squeaked, shrinking against the door as Neal frustratedly threw his head in his hands and started pacing the room, muttering furiously to himself. Emma looked between the two of them quickly.

“Guys, what’s going on?” she asked anxiously. “Neal? Hook?”

“He _told_ them!” Neal kicked his wall. “Goddamn it, Hook! You had _one_ fucking job!”

“Told them what?” Emma turned to Hook, lightly hitting his shoulder. “Told them what?”

Hook smiled nervously. “Can I just say, congratulations on moving in together? You two make _such_ a cute couple—“

Emma’s eyes widened furiously. “Neal!” she shouted, rounding on him. “You _told_ him?”

 _“_ He figured it out! It wasn't my fault!”

“If there’s anyone to blame for this situation, it’s Belle,” Hook piped up. 

“SHUT UP!” they yelled, glaring at him. Hook nodded obediently, and mimed zipping his mouth shut. 

“Where’s my phone?” Neal asked suddenly, pounding toward the bed, and tossing things over his shoulder. “Damn it! Where the hell—? _Ha!”_

 _“_ Who are you calling?” Emma asked, still glaring at Hook.

“Regina,” Neal growled.

Hook felt the blood drain from his face. “Neal, don’t do it. _Please,_ don’t do it.”

“You brought this on yourself,” Neal said viciously. “All dumbassery comes with a price.”

 


	54. Chapter 54

 

_Your Majesty!”_

_Regina rolled her eyes, glancing up from her scroll. “What do you want, Davis? I’m in the middle of listing all of Snow White’s sins against the crown.” She frowned down at the parchment, skimming her words. “So far, I’ve only got ‘stealing’ and ‘general dumbassery’.”_

_“What about…heresy?”_

_“Heresy?” she repeated witheringly. “Good God, Davis, do you even know what that means?”_

_“No, Your Majesty.”_

_“You’re an idiot,” she sighed, tossing the scroll aside. “Now what do you want?”_

_“There’s a man come to the castle, seeking sanctuary.”_

_Regina raised a dry eyebrow. “And I care because…?”_

_“Because the queen is obliged to offer sanctuary to those who seek it?”_

_“Oh.” Regina grimaced, shifting her position on her throne. “All right, send him in.”_

_Davis bobbed a quick bow, and scampered from the room. Regina tapped her fingers listlessly as she heard the sounds of several feet shuffling outside the door; it swung open, pulled apart by two of her Black Knights, and a trail of men marched in. Regina lifted her chin, narrowing her eyes as she found the man in the middle of her soldiers._

_“Speak,” she ordered, pointing to him. “State your name and purpose.”_

_The soldiers took several steps back from him as the man gave a theatrical flourish of his hand and the metal hook on the end of his left wrist._

_“Killian Jones,” he intoned, sweeping her a deep bow. “But most people refer to me by my more colorful moniker.”_

_Regina raised her eyebrows._

_“Hook,” he said sounding very satisfied with himself._

_She nodded slowly. “Okay…?”_

_“As in…_ Captain _Hook.”_

_“Right…?”_

_Hook looked frustrated. “The fearsome pirate? The dastardly seafarer? Captain of the Jolly Roger?”_

_“Oh, right, right, right…No, I’ve heard of you,” she lied. “I just wasn't expecting—“ she flopped her hands at him—“this.”_

_Hook grinned, raising a roguish eyebrow. “Nor was I expecting_ this. _I heard the queen was lovely, but no one told me she was sexy as hell.”_

_“Excuse me?” Regina stared at him with wide eyes. Was he serious right now?_

_“Mmm—mmm—_ mmm _!” Hook looked her up and down,_ tsk _ing in appreciation. “You are wearing the_ hell _out of the dress, milady.”_

 _“Do you_ want _your tongue cut out of your head?” Regina demanded, standing up._

_“No. I use it far too much.” Hook suggestively licked his lips, winking at her. Behind him, Davis raised his eyes to the heavens and muttered, “What a whore.”_

_“Who are you?” Regina snapped at the pirate. “Davis says you were looking for sanctuary, but personally, I’m rather starting to root for your enemies. I don’t like you. I don’t like your snarky little bitch-face or your snarky little bitch-attitude. And I don’t know what makes you feel brave enough to pull the kind of shit you just did, but it really shouldn’t.”_

_“Feisty,” Hook grinned. “I like feisty. Actually, I know a little game—”_

_“Why are you in my castle?” Regina said loudly, talking over him._

_“I’m in a spot of trouble with the king in the neighboring country,” Hook shrugged, looking supremely unconcerned. “Let’s just say…he’s got a very pretty daughter.” He frowned at the ceiling and nodded his head, considering his words. “Damaged goods, you might say.”_

_“I see.”_

_“_ I… _damaged…” Hook waved his hand. “You know, the goods.”_

_“Yes, thank you, I understand.”_

_“Popped the cherry.”_

_“Got it.”_

_“Deflowered the—“_

_“Thank you, Captain!” Regina said loudly, flinging up a hand._

_“And now I’m in trouble,” he finished. “So, if you could be a lamb and grant me sanctuary…?”_

_“What_ kind _of trouble?” Regina asked suspiciously. “The girl isn't expecting a little pirate now, is she?”_

 _“Eww,_ no!” _Hook looked disgusted, recoiling. “I hate children.”_

_Regina slit her eyes. “I like children.”_

_“Well, I can help with that,” he said immediately, flashing her a winning smile. “We should get started right away.”_

_“Are those really what you want your last words to be?”_

_“No, that wasn't even my best joke. Can you give me a minute?”_

_Regina stared at him for a minute, then shook her head wonderingly. “You have a bizarre amount of confidence for such a pathetic man.”_

_Hook winked. “You like that, don’t you?”_

_“I think I’ll kill you now,” she mused, raising her hand; Davis ran forward, shaking his head emphatically._

_“Your Majesty, you mustn’t! He’s already claimed sanctuary! It is most inappropriate—!”_

_“All right, FINE, Davis! Sanctuary, yes! I’ve grasped the concept! But you—“ she pointed a threatening finger at a very smug-looking Hook—“you can wipe that smile off your face, Sparky—because I promise you, one day, I_ will _kill you.”_

 

* * *

 

“Do you remember how I once told you that one day, I would kill you?”

“Yes.”

“That day has come.”

A cruel smile spread on Regina’s face as she looked down at the pathetic little bastard: Hook, backed up against the wall, looking up at her with wide fearful eyes. Emma and Neal stood off to the side, watching with narrowed eyes and folded arms, silently fuming. 

“Don’t hold back, Regina,” Neal growled. “I promised him hell, and I’m a man of my word.”

“Of course,” Regina smiled, sliding her gloves off and flexing her fingers. “I rather think I’m going to enjoy this.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that to me,” Hook said immediately, then clamped his hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said in a loud whisper. “Force of habit.”

“Funny. I used to be in the habit of ripping people’s hearts out and crushing them.”

Hook’s eyes widened in alarm. “NEAL!”

“You’re on your own, buddy.”

“EMMA!”

“Yeah, I’m with Neal on this.”

Hook scrabbled backwards as he much as he could, his breath coming in terrified little squeaks and gasps, as Regina slowly lowered herself on her heels to meet his eyes. 

“Regina,” he whispered desperately. “Please. I’ll never hit on you again, I swear. Unless you want me to. Or you just want me, in general, I’m sure Ruby would understand—“

“Be quiet, peasant,” Regina said disdainfully. 

“What are you going to do to me?” he whispered. “Goddamn it, even _that_ sounds sexy.”

“Can you not be yourself? For like, two minutes?”

“Only if you agree to stop being so irresistible, darling. I know, I know!” he said hastily as Regina’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t help it, Regina. Give a man a fighting chance—don’t wear the silky blouses, it’s not even fair.”

“I am literally ready to rip your heart out and crush it, not to mention _pregnant_ with one of your best friends’ child, and you’re _still_ hitting on me?”

“I have a gift,” Hook smiled nervously. 

“You have a disease,” Regina scoffed. “Several, I’d wager.”

“Don’t kill me!” he pleaded. “I-I haven't lived enough, I’m too young to die!”

Regina closed her eyes. “You are deliberately baiting me. You are three hundred years old—“

“And I want to make it an even five hundred,” Hook said quickly. “P-please. I-I-I’ll do anything. Henry still owes me a f-favor from when he stole my hook—y-you can _have_ it.”

“I don’t need a favor from Henry, you imbecile. I’m his _mother._ ”

“Please!” Hook begged. “Regina, I know, somewhere deep in your heart, you care about me—“

“You are incorrect, sir.”

“—you hold some kind of affection for me—“

“And now you’re just embarrassing yourself.”

“—you don’t want to hurt me—“

“The world is laughing at you.”

“Oh, come on!” Hook snapped, dropping the crocodile tears instantly. “Regina, honestly!”

“Stand back, children,” Regina ordered Emma and Neal, raising her hand. “This isn't going to be pretty.”

“Between the two of us, I’m sure it will be more than pretty.”

“Are those really what you want your last words to be?”

“No, that wasn't even my best joke. Can you give me a minute?”

Regina frowned at the words, tilting her head. “This feels familiar. Have we done this before?”

“If I could tell you how many times my first girlfriend said that to me…”

Regina rolled her eyes. “Spare me the intimate details.”

“And if I could tell you how many times her boyfriend said that to me…”

“Wow,” Neal said loudly. “Judging you. Judging you so hard right now, bro.”

“Regina—“ Hook pushed himself to his knees, clasping his hand over his hook and tucking it pleadingly under his chin. “Please. Have mercy. It’s Christmas.”

“Yes, it is,” she said with relish, beaming at him. “ _Merry Christmas, Regina._ ”

“Wait!”

The four of them snapped their heads toward the door at the sound of Lily’s voice: she stood in the doorway, staring between Hook and Regina. Regina noticed Emma out of the corner of her eye slowly shift behind Neal to block herself from view. 

“I’m sorry, may I help you?” Regina asked, raising an eyebrow. Lily slowly lowered her hand as she walked toward them.

“Don’t kill him,” she said, looking at Hook. “Seriously, Regina, don’t kill him.”

“I wasn't going to _literally_ kill him,” Regina said, annoyed. 

Hook’s eyebrows shot up. “You weren’t?”

“That doesn't mean you should feel safe,” she told him. “Because you shouldn’t.”

“You’re not going to lay a finger on him,” Lily said, narrowing her eyes at Regina. “My mother has waited a century to get her hands on him— _don’t say anything!”_ she added fiercely as Hook immediately opened his mouth. “If anyone’s going to kill him, it’s going to Ursula.”

“Well—wait—“ Neal frowned, stepping forward. “She’s—she’s not going to _actually_ kill him, is she?”

Lily scoffed. “What do you care? You were just about to let Regina blast him.”

“Yeah, but she wasn't actually going to do anything,” Neal said. “She was just going to scare him a little—right, Regina?

Regina blinked. “….Right.”

“Seriously?” Hook’s eyes darted between them. “Shit, you guys totally had me going there.”

“I’m still mad at you,” Neal warned. “I mean, really fucking mad at you. You can’t even _comprehend_ how mad at you I am.”

“Not as much as Ursula, I’ll bet,” Lily hissed at Neal. “Which is why, you’re not going to do anything to him. At least, not until after she’s done with him.” She glanced at Hook. “Maybe if he stopped scampering off like a little bitch every time she came in the room, it would be over and done with by now.”

“I’m a survivor, love. I choose my battles wisely.” Hook held out his hand, motioning for Neal to help pull him to a stand. “Which is precisely why —thanks, mate—I will always avoid a battle against a woman. They will inevitably win, and I will inevitably be humiliated.” He dusted himself off, and looked up at Regina. “Well done,” he said, inclining his head respectfully. “As always, you are the most terrifyingly beautiful and beautifully terrifying creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. I genuinely thought you were going to hurt me.”

“Hmm,” Regina said with a wry smile. “You’re smarter than you look.”

“And Neal…Emma…” Hook looked toward them apprehensively; they looked like they still weren't feeling too friendly toward him, but their glares had softened. “I _am_ sorry. But I had to tell Belle a secret, in exchange for her letting me and Ruby stay over because of the row she and her gran had last night, and then Belle probably blabbed it all over town. So _technically,_ this is really more Belle’s fault than mine.” Hook sighed deeply, pitying himself. “I was just trying to help my damsel in distress. Belle took advantage of me.” He coughed to stifle his laughter, and muttered something about how that sentence could be misconstrued.

“Come on, man,” Neal complained. “Your jokes are like tiny mind-rapists. Can’t you ever just let one go?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Neal. If I were to—” 

Regina flung up her hand, frowning as she noticed Emma staring at her phone in horror. “Emma, you look positively terrified.”

“Are you okay?” Lily crooned. Neal immediately stepped back to Emma, placing a protective arm around her shoulder. Emma didn't seem to notice, so transfixed was she by the apparently disastrous message on her phone. 

“It’s my dad,” she said in a trembling voice. “H-he wants to talk to us.”

“So?” Neal said, feigning nonchalance. “We’re all adults. I’m sure David will be…” He trailed off, seeing the round of incredulous faces staring back at him. “Perfectly unreasonable,” he sighed. “All right, let’s go.”

“Oh—“ Lily stood in front of the doorway. “Can I come? You know…meet everybody?”

Regina and Hook exchanged a confused glance. “Why would you want to meet everybody?” Regina asked, crinkling her brow. “They’re all assholes.”

“Just…” Lily’s eyes trailed to Neal, a malicious glint in her eyes. “You guys sound like you have a really amazing family, and I never really had one before Cruella and Ursula.” She shrugged her shoulders up and down. “I finally feel like I’ve found a town a belong in. I’m trying to set some roots here. ”

“No, you’re _not,_ ” Hook snorted. “You just want to see David take the mickey out of Neal, ‘cause you’ve still got lezzie love for Emma.”

Lily looked at Hook for a long time, slowly raising an eyebrow. “I think that’s between me and Emma,” she said. 

“There’s something between you and Emma?” Hook’s eyebrows jumped, and a wide smile spread on his face. “ _Do_ tell!”

“Neal,” Emma said warningly, grabbing his sleeve as he moved toward Hook. Neal glowered, but allowed Emma to pull him back. “What is going _on_ with you today?” she hissed. “You’re, like…aggressive.”

“Bloodthirsty,” Hook agreed, looking at Neal warily. 

“Maybe he’s just intimidated,” Lily said icily. “Feeling threatened.”

Neal closed his eyes, visibly clenching his teeth. Emma’s eyes darted between him and Lily, who was watching him with a sour smile on her face. Hook, for his part, seemed to be losing interest in the scene and was instead looking Regina up and down, muttering, “Mmm-mmm- _mmm._ ”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Regina snapped, stepping back. “You little pervert!”

“What? Regina—“ Hook gave her a pained look. “Look, in a month or two, you’re going to start to show, and you’re going to be incredibly less sexy.”

“You have a _girlfriend._ ”

“Who I care for very deeply,” Hook acknowledged, nodding emphatically “But me and you, we’ve got history, darling. You’ll always have a special place in my heart. And in my imagination,” he added with a wink.

Regina narrowed her eyes witheringly. “You’re disgusting,” she spat. “I mean, _really._ How do you live with yourself?”

“I know, I’m terrible,” Hook sighed heavily, though Regina could see him hiding a smile. “I expect I’ll be on the Naughty List this year…”  He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “The _very_ naughty list, if you know what I mean.”

“And you—“ Emma rounded on him with wide eyes. “What the hell is going on with _you?_ You’re, like, extra-sleazy today.”

“Well, it’s not my fault,” Hook complained. “Ruby started something up today and then she left before things got off the ground, so now I’m all—“ he waved his hand frustratedly. “And then Regina comes in, looking fabulous, _and_ you and Lily are telling me you have hot lesbian sex together—“

“ _What?_ ” Emma, Regina, and Neal sputtered. Hook shrugged defensively. 

“I’m reading between the lines.”

“You can’t _read!_ ” Regina said with derisive laughter. “You’ve got a perpetual case of teenage hormones— _that’s_ your problem.”

“I prefer to think of it as ‘keeping the spirit of youth’,” Hook sniffed. 

“Can I say something?” Lily asked, raising her hand. 

“NO!” the four of them shouted. Lily slowly lowered her hand; Regina whipped back to Hook, glaring at him.

“Your _spirit of youth_ is offense, you know that? You think I want to hear about the details of your sexual appetite? Spoiler! I _don’t!_ In fact, you know what—“ Regina unclenched her fist, still tingling furiously with magic, and made a grasping gesture at Hook. Hook’s eyes flew wide open, clearly having felt the magic hit him; he patted his throat frantically, checking for injury.

“Are you okay?” Emma asked worriedly, while Neal peered at him over her head.

Hook breathed a sigh of relief, lowering his hand. _I’m fine,_ he mouthed—then frowned. _I’m fine,_ he tried again. _Emma?_

“What are you saying?” Emma asked, crinkling her brow. “I can’t hear you, just talk.”

 _I can’t!_ Hook looked around wildly, his eyes landing on Regina. She smiled back, satisfied, and folded her arms as she watched the horror-filled look of dawning comprehension on his face.

“I told you, I didn't want to hear you anymore,” she said primly. “And now I won’t.”

 

 


	55. Chapter 55

 

 

 

Tink frowned, shaking her empty glass upside down. A few residual drops of iced tea dripped onto the table, but nothing more. She exhaled frustratedly, and slid the glass away from her: she’d gone through three glasses of iced tea (given a little extra kick, from the alcohol she’d asked Granny to slide in there), just to get through the morning with Cruella and Ursula incessantly fawning over her. _Really._ She understood the fascination—after all, she _was_ rather adorable, provided she didn't open her mouth and let the obscenities fly—but that was a long time to be fawned over. Even for Tink.

At some point, she had seen Regina, Neal, and Emma march Hook out in front of them, Lily trailing behind. None of them looked particularly happy, other than Lily, and from what Tink caught of their muttered conversation, she assumed it had to do with a certain someone leaking the secret about Neal and Emma moving in together.

 _Honestly._ She rolled her eyes. Like that meant anything. One of these days, Neal would get tired of Emma and he’d come running into Tink’s open and extremely willing arms. And then…well, she’d had plenty of daydreams of what happened then. Her favorite one involved strawberries and chocolate syrup—

“Tink.” Mulan dropped into the seat across her, looking exhausted. “Look, I gotta talk to someone.”

“Hmm,” Tink said, slurring slightly. “I might not be the best person for that…me and secrets aren't the best combination.”

“It’s not going to be a secret much longer,” Mulan said grimly. “You’ve heard about the whole Aurora situation, right?”

Tink squinted up at the ceiling in an effort to remember. “That was…you and her reigniting your torrid love affair, even though she’s married with one child and another on the way to Phillip, right? Or am I thinking of _One Life to Live?_ ”

“No, that’s us.”

“Oh, cool. I remembered that.” Tink drummed her hands on the table. “All right, so what do you need to talk about?”

Mulan took a deep breathing, kneading her fists into the table. “I think…Aurora might be thinking about leaving Phillip for me.”

Tink nodded slowly, struggling to give a damn. “Nice.”

“No, it’s not _nice,_ ” Mulan said desperately. “I mean, she’s _seriously_ considering it. I don’t want to break up a family! But Phillip’s being so unreasonable about it all, and I…”

Mulan kept talking about her feelings, as Tink gradually lost interest, drifting away. Mulan could be so _irritating,_ she reflected huffily. Like she wanted to hear about her boring problems! Meanwhile, Tink really needed to focus on her strawberries and chocolate syrup daydream. 

“…she’s so upset, but she doesn't want to break up her marriage in the middle of a pregnancy—”

“Hang on, I’m buzzing,” Tink said, holding up a hand (mentally thanking whoever had interrupted Mulan’s tirade). “Hello?”

“Tink,” Regina’s voice said tersely. “Get over here.”

Tink raised her eyebrows, twisting in her seat to look around. “Where is _here?_ ” she asked. “Where are you?”

“The loft.”

“What loft?”

“ _The_ loft. David and Snow’s loft.”

 _The loft?_ Tina’s jaw unhinged. She was…being invited to the loft? Like she was—like she was _part of the gang?_ Was this her initiation ceremony? Normally, she felt akin to a parasite, invading the group during their hangout sessions, clinging to her friendships with Hook, Regina, and Belle to be included. But now…she was being invited to The Loft.

“I’ll be there,” she breathed. 

“Don’t hang up,” Regina warned. “I’ve got to catch you up before you get here. Head’s up, everyone’s pissed with you, and no matter what they say, you’re going to nod your head and agree with it, do you understand?”

Tink frowned, getting up from her seat without so much as a “see you later” to Mulan. “And why is that?” she asked suspiciously. “What is this about?”

“Hang on—I’m going to go out in the hall.” There was pause, during which Tink could hear her shoes scuffling against the floor, and a door creaking open and shut. “Okay, so here’s the deal: David found out about Neal and Emma, and he nearly blew the roof off the whole building. Snow’s beyond delighted, and she’s asking Emma if she can help them pick out furniture, but David is absolutely _livid.”_

“Good man,” Tink said approvingly, glancing over as a man passed her on the sidewalk: not hot enough to wolf-whistle, but enough to earn a suggestive smile. He hurried away from her, clinging a little more tightly to his girlfriend’s hand. 

“Anyways, they managed to keep him from murdering Neal with his bare hands by explaining it away as something they were _talking about_ in the distant future—”

“Is it?” Tink asked hopefully. _The distant future_ was more than enough time for her to figure out a way to get Neal drunk, and somehow convince him—

“No,” Regina said flatly. “Stop scheming, I can _hear_ you thinking.”

Tink huffed. “Then what am I even coming over there for?” _Unless you just want to hang out, ‘cause I totally do that with you guys._

“We told him that you and Hook got drunk, and started randomly spreading the rumor around because you’re both idiots.”

“Okay,” Tink shrugged. “Hook’s agreed to this, yeah?”

“Well, he’s lost his voice recently, so he doesn't have much of a choice,” Regina said smugly. 

“All righty,” Tink said, not interested enough to ask after it. “Let me ask you this, just so I have my story straight: when Hook and I were drunk, did we get into it at all?”

There was a pause. “Excuse me?”

“Regina, if I’m going to lie convincingly, I need to know the story you’ve gone with,” Tink said impatiently. “Now, come on.”

“I don’t _know!_ Jesus Christ, Tink, all I told him was that you two got drunk and started talking!”

“Dirty talking?”

“ _No,_ you whore! Talking, like _spreading rumors_ talking! God!”

“Okay, take it easy,” Tink said, looking up as she reached the apartment building. “I’m gonna be there in, like, five minutes, so I gotta decide my backstory now.”

“Well, just so you know, Ruby’s here, so if you’re going to add in anything about your… _intimate_ life, be careful. She’s got that wolf thing tomorrow, and she’s pretty vicious right now.”

 _“_ Hmm.” Tink frowned, twitching her mouth to the side. “Well, my backstory just got a lot less interesting. I had a whole scenario thought out.”

“Oh, my _God._ ”

“Based on a true story. Embellished, some of the names changed, but the basic concept.”

“Which I’m sure no one wants to hear about,” Regina said firmly. “Look, Tink, just stick to the story I gave you: you two got drunk, and started spreading rumors like the assholes you are, okay?”

“I’m taking the blame for all this?”

“You and Hook, yes.”

“Will I be getting any favors, in exchange for this?”

Regina let out a slow, frustrated breath. “Not. From. _Neal._ ”

“Is that up for discussion?”

“No.”

“Put Neal on the phone, let me talk to him.”

“I wouldn't betray him like that. He’s my brother.” Regina’s voice turned harder. “My _brother,_ Tink. Which means…?”

“No slutty comments,” Tink sighed, remembering all too well what had happened last time: Regina’s stupid witch baby had spilled coffee all over her. “Fine. I’ll try to behave myself, I guess.”

“Make an effort this time, huh? For real.”

“I said, I’ll _try._ Can’t promise anything, though—Neal looks _particularly_ sexy today.”

“Goddamn it, Tink.”

 

* * *

 

“So this is where you brought that guy back?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Nice.” Violet leaned back from the well, and turned around to face him. “So…do you have, like, actual magic and stuff?”

Henry shrugged. “Not sure. My moms think I do, so I’ve got some books I’m supposed to be reading.”

“Dude, you’re so lucky. Your parents are cool; mine would legit _kill_ me, if they caught me playing around with magic.”

“It’s pretty cool, I guess.” Henry feigned nonchalance, examining a loose string on his coat. “My mom, Regina, wants me to bring back her mom like I brought back Graham.”

“Dude.” Violet stared at him, openmouthed. “Are you gonna do it?”

“I’m working on it,” Henry replied with a lazy smile. “But resurrection’s tricky. My grandpa’s going to do some experimenting, try to figure out how I pulled it off.”

“That’s kind of awesome,” Violet said, smiling. 

“Yeah…” Henry scratched behind his ear, shifting his eyes around. “If you want, I could show you the books. Might be fun to try some of the spells in there.”

“Really?” Violet said eagerly.

“Whatever,” he shrugged, the picture of coolness. “Come on, they’re back at the loft.”

They made small talk as they trudged through the woods, discussing how lame their teachers were, how that one episode of _Doctor Who_ was an epic fail, and how much they were dreading all the family time they were going to have to endure at Christmas.

“I mean, it must be even worse for you,” Violet said as they walked the sidewalk to the apartment complex. “You’ve got such a big family.”

“Dude, I know,” Henry said. “And my mom’s having that huge Christmas Eve party, and she’s making me wear a suit and everything.”

“That blows.”

“Right?” He glanced sideways at her, seriously considering asking her if she wanted to come, so they could hang out during the lameness of it. “Hey, do you wanna—?”

“Isn’t that your grandpa?” she asked suddenly, pointing behind him. Henry turned around, his eyes landing on a furious-looking Rumple, Belle tottering after him on ridiculously high heels.

“Rumple!” she called. “Calm down!”

“I’m _always_ the last to know!” he shouted back, not even looking at Henry as he passed him. “Fucking _David_ knew before me! I can’t believe this! Why does he do this to me?”

“ _Rumple!”_ Belle clacked passed them, giving Henry a quick smile and pat on the shoulder as she walked by.  “Rumple, _don’t_!”

“I’m going to blast this town to kingdom fucking come!”

“ _No magic!”_

 _“_ WHAT-THE FUCK- _EVER!”_

“Shit,” Violet breathed, staring after him. “What was that all about?”

“I don’t know,” Henry frowned. “Come on.”

They pounded up the steps, following the sound of Rumple’s angry ranting and Belle’s pleading. As they were turning the landing, they heard the door swing open, and the several other shouting voices. Henry could hear David’s voice join Rumple’s rants, and he even thought he heard Ruby in there. The voices grew louder as they went further down the hall. 

“What the hell?” Violet asked, wide-eyed, when they reached the door. Henry frowned, opening the door wider to peer inside. 

Tink and Hook were sitting at the kitchen table, heads bowed as the circle of people crowded around them, yelling and waving their arms around furiously. Neal and Emma nervously hovered in the background, exchanging glances. Belle had a grip on Rumple, holding him back; while Ruby was throwing her hands up and ranting about her confusion.

Henry pushed the door open a little wider to walk in, looking around the loft as everyone’s head snapped toward him…then to Violet…then back at him. Henry raised his eyebrows.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“You could say that,” a wry voice said. Henry looked over to the corner, seeing the brunette woman, who he’d been mentally referring to as “Attitude Problem.” She smirked, giving him a little wave. “Nice family, you got here, kid.

“Never mind that! Who is this?” Regina demanded, coming forward with her hands on her hips. Violet instinctively took a step back. 

“Um—“

“This isn't a day for ‘um’, honey.”

“I’m V-Violet.”

Emma’s eyes widened, and she hit Neal in the shoulder, nodding toward Violet; Belle and Rumple exchanged a look; Snow looked ready to faint, while Regina looked ready to kill; Ruby paused just long enough in her tirade to give Violet an appraising look. 

“Jesus, Henry, what would you bring her _here_ for?” she said, sounding annoyed. “We’re kind of in the middle of something.”

“I can see that.” Henry ignored the accusatory looks his mothers were giving him, walking into the center of the room. “So, is anybody going to tell me what’s going on, or am I going to have to sit here and try to piece it together?”

“Everyone’s losing their shit over something that’s barely their business,” Attitude Problem drawled. “God…what _is_ it with this family?”

“Something we agree on,” Regina said, raising an eyebrow at her. “In fact, she brings up an excellent point—why am I even here? Hmm?” She looked around, as if daring someone to answer. “Are they moving into _my_ house? No. Does them living together affect me in any way at all? No. So why am I here, arguing with a bunch of assholes when I have a million other things to worry about?”

“Still lost here, Mom,” Henry said holding up his hands. “What’s the actual argument about? _This_ time,” he added, reassuring Violet this this was hardly an abnormal situation for his family.

“Basically, me and Hook were drunk bitches last night, ‘cause we told everyone your parents were shacking up, when _really,_ they’re only _thinking_ about shacking up in the future,” Tink said flatly, giving Regina a sour look. “So it’s our fault, and Rumple and David can stop yelling; Snow can stop squeeing; and Ruby, you just keep yelling at Hook because he’s an asshole who’s so desperate for attention, he’d actually _lie_ to you about some other couple’s drama  and try to find a way to make the whole goddamn thing about him.”

Hook frowned, looking rather affronted by Tink’s evaluation, but curiously, he didn't say anything. Henry raised his eyebrows, scoffing.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, and explained to Violet in a loud whisper, “Normally we can’t get him to shut up.”

“Never mind that,” Regina said impatiently. “Who is this _Violet?_ ” She looked her up and down, curling her lip back. “Why is she here?”

“One of my friends from school,” Henry explained, casually waving his hand. “I just was going to grab some of my books to show her. So, what’s this about you two moving in?” he asked, turning to his parents interestedly. “What’s up with that?”

“We’ll talk about it later, Henry,” Emma said wearily, unfolding her arms. “Right now, we gotta start getting Neal unpacked. Hook, you can get up off your gossipy ass and help us, okay?”

“Actually, he’s helping _me_ move today,” Ruby said dangerously, putting a firm hand on Hook’s shoulder. “Aren’t you?”

Hook nodded obediently, getting up to follow Ruby out the door. Neal and Emma exchanged a shrug, and made their way after them, pausing to give Henry a smile (and Emma slipping Violet a dark look) before walking out the door.

The remaining members of the group closed around Tink, glaring threateningly at her. She gave a nervous chuckle, smiling around at them all.

“Hey, who wants to hear a weird sex story? Roughly based on my life, though I tend to embellish a little…”

“Let’s go,” Henry muttered to Violet, motioning frantically. “Trust me, you do _not_ want to be here for this.”

Violet glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the group, who now looked faintly green—including Attitude Problem. “Okay, yeah, I believe you.”

“You should,” Henry said grimly, holding the door open. “Or it’ll haunt you for the rest of your days. People develop mental disorders, after listening to the kind of shit she says. You don't even _know.”_

 

* * *

 

Ruby slammed on the brakes. Hook opened his mouth in a soundless yelp, holding his chest to steady his heart, but Ruby barely paid him any mind. She didn't know _what_ kind of stunt he was trying to pull with the sudden onset of mutism, but she didn't care that much right now. He lied to her, and even though it was only a little thing—not even something she really cared all that much about, however happy she was for Neal and Emma—she wanted to make sure Hook knew that she didn't tolerate lying in shape or form. She didn't like jealousy, and she didn't like dishonesty: and if this was going to work, he had to know that.

“Come on,” Ruby said roughly, yanking him out of the car. “Let’s go.”

Hook obediently followed her to the inn’s entrance, nearly tripping over his own feet as she pulled him after her. Ruby shoved the doors open and stalked right past the welcome desk, ignoring Granny’s wide-eyed look as she came in. No…no, she wasn't dealing with Granny right now. Not today. She was done. Granny brought out a panic in her, a mad frenzy that was made even worse with wolfs time dawning, and she wasn't going to let her do it anymore. 

Was it going to make going to work awkward and extremely uncomfortable? Of course. Was it probably going to result in her being fired and having a feud with Granny? Yeah, _duh._ But it was fine: Ruby could find another job, easy: that little Italian place probably needed another waitress as its customer base grew; or maybe, the White Rabbit. And if all else failed, she’d ask Gold if he had a job for her in his shop: he’d always held a vague, grandfatherly affection for her, since she’d helped him and David track down Belle after the curse broke the first time. Maybe he’d be willing to help her out, if she got that desperate.

Ruby flung open the door to her room and strode over to the closet, yanking out the suitcases. “Just start packing shit,” she said, tossing one to Hook. “We might have to make a couple trips, but get as much as you can in there.”

Hook huffed, throwing the suitcase down on the bed and flinging it open. Ruby rolled her eyes as he stalked across the room with an injured look on his face, grabbing an armful of clothes from her closet and shoving them in the suitcase. 

“Don’t be an ass about it,” she said irritably. “Pack _efficiently.”_

Hook flurried his arms, as if to say, _I don’t know what that means!_

“Don’t shove it in there!” she said exasperatedly. “Pack, so there’s space to put more than a random pile in there. I don’t want to keep going back and forth.”

Hook exhaled tensely, making sure she knew exactly how difficult she was being, but Ruby didn't even look up. She was too busy sweeping her arm across the dresser, knocking all her perfume and makeup and hair products and whatever random shit was scattered on top into the suitcase. 

 _This is going to be good for me,_ she told herself. She needed space from Granny: as much as she loved her, the two of them couldn't keep living together. They drove each other crazy, they fought all the time, and both of them were too stubborn and petty to be the bigger person. Was Christmas really the right time to make the separation? Okay, maybe it wasn't the best timing, but it was still early enough in the season that they could have time to get past the argument and salvage a merry Christmas. And if not, it would be like their traditional Christmas: full of screaming, arguing, and general discomfort. 

But for God’s sake, it was about time she got her own place! She needed a change, a chance to spread her wings and soar…or whatever. Her _own_ life. She couldn't live under Granny’s tyranny anymore. And Belle had—shockingly—given her an out that morning.

She didn't know _what_ had gotten into her—for the past two, three years, Belle had hated her behind a poisonously sweet smile; now, out of nowhere, she was acting… _nice?_ Maybe because it was Christmas, maybe because Hook had secretly asked her to help out, maybe Belle had hit her head and was now experiencing a frightening personality shift; either way, it worked for Ruby, and she was going to take full advantage of it.

“All right, let’s go,” she said, snapping the lid shut. “Hold out your arms, I’m going to string some bags on them.”

Hook raised his eyes to the ceiling, exhaling irritably, as he held out his arms. Ruby started draping him with the various shoulder bags she had stuffed clothes in. 

“I’m going to have to buy stuff for that apartment,” she realized, sliding a teddy bear backpack on his shoulders. “Like, pots and pans and stuff…Oh, my God, I hope it comes already furnished. Have you ever been there?” she asked suddenly. “To Belle’s apartment?”

Hook shook his head. Ruby groaned.

“Goddamn it, I hope this isn't going to be too expensive,” she said. “I mean, I’m a waitress, for God’s sake. It’s not like I’ve got so much cash to burn.” 

She looked up at him anxiously. “You think I can do this?” she asked. “Please, I need some words of encouragement right now, I’m really freaking out.”

Hook opened his mouth helplessly—and started mouthing again. Ruby gritted her teeth, feeling her temper rise: he’d been doing that _all day._ Why did he have to be so immature?

“Okay, what is your _problem?_ ” she said heatedly. “What kind of statement is this supposed to be, hmm? Is this because I got upset this morning? Because I already told you, I can’t control my temper around wolfs time, so you have to cut me a little slack—what?”

Hook had started shaking his frantically, looking at her with pleading eyes. Ruby raised her eyebrows.

“What?” she repeated. “Why are you shaking your head? _Are you saying I’m wrong?_ ”

Hook looked ready to cry from frustration: he threw down the bags and started gesturing wildly. 

“Oh, my God,” Ruby scoffed, bending down to pick up the bags. Really? He was going to throw a tantrum now? Really? “You are _such_ a child,” she said witheringly, stalking past him. A minute later, she heard Hook’s footsteps follow her as she strode down the hall.

“I’m mad at you!” she yelled over her shoulder as she turned the corner. “You better have a good apology up your sleeve this time! And don’t think I’m going to— _oomph!”_

Ruby dropped half her bags as she crashed into someone, and fell  roughly to the floor. “Mother _fucker,_ ” she groaned, feeling the ache in her hands and knees as she pushed herself up. “Shit, I am _so_ sorry…Here, let me help you.”

The other woman—who she recognized as Ursula, Hook’s ex-girlfriend—eyed her proffered hand warily. “Thank you,” she said finally, allowing Ruby to pull her up. She brushed herself off, giving Ruby a stiff nod. “Do you need some help with your bags?”

“Oh. Um—“ Ruby cleared her throat awkwardly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “That’s—that’s okay.”

“I’ve got eight tentacles,” Ursula said enticingly. “They can carry a lot.”

Ruby snapped her head up, looking at Ursula with wide eyes. “What?”

“No, I’m kidding,” Ursula snorted, batting her hand. “But the look on your face was epic.”

“Oh.” Ruby put a hand to her rapidly beating heart. “Okay, I was going to say—“

“I mean, I _did,_ ” Ursula said, straightening her sleeves. “Back when I was still Queen of the Sea and all, but then they just got to be a hassle. Too much upkeep, you know?”

Ruby nodded slowly. “So, was this…during, uh…? Was Hook in the picture at that point, or…?”

Ursula raised her eyebrows. “Are you asking about tentacle sex?”

“ _What?_ No!” Ruby sputtered. “No, I was just …wait, tentacle sex, really?”

Ursula shrugged. 

“Shit. That’s weird.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s weird.” Ursula titled her head, frowning at the ceiling. “Weird, but interesting.”

Ruby opened her mouth to ask how that even _worked,_ but she caught sight of a certain someone over Ursula’s shoulder. “Speak of the devil,” she said grimly, glowering at Hook as he came jogging down the hall. Ursula turned around.

Hook froze, the blood draining from his face at the sight of his girlfriend and ex-girlfriend standing together in the hall. Very wise on his part, Ruby decided, given that one was on the verge of wolfism and the other had a dangerous set of tentacles hidden away somewhere. 

Hook looked between them for a second—then spun on his heel, sprinting down the hall.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Ruby said fiercely, shooting after him. A burst of wolf speed caught her up to him almost immediately; she reached out and grabbed his arm, spinning him around to face her. “What are you running for, huh?” she demanded, pushing him against the wall one-handed. “What did you do?”

Hook shook his head pleadingly.

“Cut the bullshit,” Ruby said impatiently. “Talk to me like a normal human.”

Hook pointed to his throat and shook his head, mouthing something. 

“I can’t understand you! Just talk!”

“What’s going on over there?” Ursula called, her heels clunking decisively as she walked toward them. “Trouble in paradise?”

Hook looked absolutely terrified; he scrabbled against the wall, frantically trying to tug his shirt out of Ruby’s grip, but wolfs time always made her impossibly strong: she lifted him a little higher against the wall, so his feet were dangling in the air. 

“You’re really making me mad now,” she growled (somewhat aware that lycanthropy was feeding her temper, but she wasn't paying attention to that right now). 

“Hello, Hook,” Ursula said smoothly, coming to a stop in front of them. Hook squeezed his eyes shut, silently sobbing. “I don’t think we had a chance to finish our discussion the other day.”

Hook lifted his head, looking at Ruby in anguish. _Don’t forget me,_ he mouthed, closing his hand over hers. 

“May I?” Ursula asked Ruby politely, holding her hand out. Ruby flicked her gaze between the two of them, her eyes resting warily on Hook.

“Sure,” she said, slowly lowering him to the ground. Hook clung to her hand even as  she stepped away; he grasped the empty air desperately as she wrenched her hand from his.

“Thank you,” Ursula said, smiling at her. In one swift motion, she had him pinned against the wall again, growling furiously in his face.

“ _Do you have any idea what I’m going to do you? You motherfucker, abandoning me like that! I am going to squeeze the life out of your pathetic little lungs with my bare hands, do you understand that? I am going to reach down your throat, physically take hold your lungs, and squeeze all the oxygen out of them!”_

Ruby looked on in alarm as Hook reached for her pleadingly, his eyes wide with fear. _Help me!_ he mouthed. _Ruby!_

“Okay, don’t hurt him _too_ much,” she said hesitantly. Ursula scoffed, looking at Ruby derisively. 

“What, you’re telling me he’s never screwed you over? You don’t want to see him cry like the little bitch he is?”

Ruby opened her mouth to object, but Ursula kept talking.

“Never acted like you were his sun-and-stars one day, and a crazy bitch the next? Never talked you up with some big romantic speech, and then gave the cold shoulder five minutes later? Never did something so offensive and distasteful that you couldn't believe you were ever together, and then got tricked into taking him back?” 

Ruby slowly closed her mouth, hearing some all-too-familiar accusations from Ursula’s mouth. “Actually…” she said, her voice trembling with rage; she turned her head, glowering at Hook. “Now that I think of it…”

The old sun-and-stars-to-crazy-bitch routine was a favorite of his; it was how he got out of trouble, making her think that perhaps _she_ was the one overreacting and maybe she should go easy on him, because _look how much he cared about her._ He didn't _mean_ to say something like that; he didn't _mean_ to make that offensive joke; he didn't _mean_ to fall asleep while she was trying to talk to him…

And then romantic speeches popped up _way_ too frequently for them to be spontaneous and from the heart. He had to have a notebook full of them that he’d committed to memory. 

And as far as offensive and distasteful… those early days, when he still thought he and Emma had an epic love story (even as he was throwing Cheetos in said soulmate’s hair)—how many times had he talked about her in front of Ruby? How many times had he completely ignored Ruby, in favor of complaining about how Emma friend-zoned him?

Hook surreptitiously pulled his phone out of his pocket, his thumb working the keyboard quickly. Ruby narrowed her eyes.

“Who are you calling?” she asked, darting forward to snatch the phone from him, but the screen was already blinking: _Message Sent!_ “Who are you calling, Hook?” she demanded. “Another one of your girlfriends?”

Hook looked at her sadly, and started mouthing silently again. 

“Okay, I have _had_ it with this game!” she flared. “Just talk!”

Hook pointed his throat again and shook his head. 

“You can’t talk? Is that what is?”

A nod.

“Are you sick?”

He shook his head.

“Is this some kind of therapy thing? Did you go to therapy?”

He shook his head.

“Is it magic?” Ursula frowned. “Rumpletiltskin?”

Hook pointed at her excitedly.

“Rumplestiltskin?”

He shook his head, waving his hand back.

“Magic.”

He nodded emphatically.

“Regina?”

He nodded again, jabbing his finger at her.

“Regina cursed you? For what? Oh—“ Ursula snapped her fingers. “Right, sorry. Okay, did she curse you for committing some kind of crime?”

He shook his head.

“Did you break a deal with her? Betray her? Rat her out to her enemies?”

“Stop,” Ruby frowned, holding up her hand. “That’s not the kind of thing they argue about.” She slowly lowered her hand, looking at him suspiciously. “Were you hitting on her again?”

Hook blinked rapidly, knitting his brow. Then nodded once…twice…nodded ashamedly, looking down. Ruby drew in a tense breath, clenching her fists.

“Of course you were. I know, I know,” she said as he looked up apologetically, mouthing something and waving his hand. “Force of habit.”

“Even so,” Ursula growled, pushing him up a little higher. “Doesn’t mean he’s going to get away with it—“

“Stop!”

Ruby and Ursula whirled around at the sound of Robin’s voice: he was standing at the other end of the hallway, panting as if he’d just run a mile. 

“Stop,” he repeated, walking toward them, and motioned at Hook. “Put him down, put him down.”

“Why?” Ursula glowered. “He’s had this coming to him for two hundred years. And now, I’m finally going to do it—I’m going to kill him for what he did to me.”

“No, you’re not,” Robin said tiredly. “Granny has a ‘no felons’ policy.”

“Like I care.”

“Fair point, but aren't you glad to be rid of him?” Robin said desperately. “I mean, you’ve got Cruella now, and you two are splendiferously in love. Why do you still want revenge on him? He’s nothing. He’s useless.”

Ursula gave Hook a considering look, narrowing her eyes. “That’s true….He _is_ useless.”

“And nothing to you anymore,” Robin said, his eyes flickering nervously to Hook despite his calm voice. “Just put him down, he’s Ruby’s problem now.”

“I’ve been waiting for two hundred years, though,” Ursula said through clenched teeth.

“Well, Hook waited just as long to get revenge on Rumple,” Robin pointed out. “And then, he just gave it up one day. Just like that. And look at them now, they’re great…whatever they are.” He took a few cautious steps toward her, and hesitantly put his hand on the arm that was holding Hook against the wall. “Come on…loosen up…There you go.”

Ursula gradually released her grip, lowering Hook to the ground. “You’re right,” she told Robin. “He’s nothing to me, because I’ve got Cruella: my incredibly hot, sexy wife. _Much_ more satisfying,” she added with a significant glance at Hook. “On _every_ level. Especially the important ones.”

Hook brushed invisible dust off his jacket, not looking at her.

“I’m talking, _sexual,_ ” Ursula clarified. 

Hook smiled through clenched teeth, giving her a thumbs-up.

“And she’s a million times hotter than you.”

He rolled his eyes, straightening his jacket.

“And Ruby, if you ever go lesbian, I’m sure you and Lily would hit it off.” Ursula gave Hook a disdainful look. “You should just leave this pathetic excuse for a man, and men in general. They’re all sniveling, worthless little cowards.” She glanced at Robin. “No offense.”

Robin waved his hand wearily.

“All right, Hook,” Ursula decided, giving him a considering glance. “You can live. Not that you should feel any safer around me, but I’m not going to kill you.” She gave Ruby a smile. “I wouldn't want to deprive your girlfriend of the pleasure of doing that herself.”

“Or her grandmother,” Robin said, pointing behind them.

Everyone’s heads swung around at the sound of Granny’s angry footsteps storming down the hall. Hook staggered, grabbing Ruby’s arm to hold himself upright, at sound of Granny’s ringing voice.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, manwhore!”” she shouted. “Trying to take my Ruby from me! Let me tell you something, pretty boy—I may not turn into a wolf anymore, but I don’t need claw and teeth to be vicious! I’ve got a crossbow that could shoot an arrow right through that empty skull of yours! And I’ll tell you something else— _I’m a damn good shot._ ”

“Granny, calm down,” Ruby said, swinging a protective arm in front of a cowering Hook. “Nobody’s _taking_ me from you, all right?”

“Then what are all these suitcases cluttering the hall?” she demanded. “Why were you gone last night? It was _him!_ ”

“No, it was you!” Ruby snapped. “ _I_ decided to leave! You know why? Because I can’t _stand_ this Granny! This breathing down my neck, all these rules and curfews and shit—I’m not going to do it anymore! I’m moving out, I’m getting another job—I’m getting my own life, and there’s nothing you can say or do that’s going to make me change my mind!”

Granny’s eyebrows disappeared into her hair. “Is that so?” she said thinly.

“It’s so.”

“Really.”

“Really, really.”

“Fine.” Granny smiled at Hook, showing her pointy teeth. “Well, you can pack up your shit, too, manwhore. You’ve just been evicted.”

Hook’s eyes widened incredulously. _Me?_

“Granny, that’s not fair,” Ruby frowned. “You can’t just throw him out because _I’m_ leaving.”

“Like hell I can’t,” Granny scoffed. “I hope you two have a very Merry Christmas.”

“We’re not moving out _together!”_ Ruby cried exasperatedly. “I’m moving into the library apartment, it’s only got space for one person! You can’t throw him out now! It’s Christmas!”

“Yes, it is,” Granny agreed. “And there’s no room at the inn. _Just like the original._ ”

 _“_ But there _is_ room at the inn,” Ruby glared. “You’re just trying to get me back for getting away from you.”

“No, Ruby, I’m not. You were the only reason I tolerated the manwhore living here. And now that you’re out, he’s out, too.” Granny smirked at Hook. “Leave your key at the front. I’ll be waiting.”

They watched her saunter back down the hall silently. When she turned the corner, Ursula let out a low whistle.

“Your grandma’s a badass,” she told Ruby. 

“Thanks,” she said wearily, giving Hook a worried look. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

“You could stay with Belle,” Robin suggested. 

“Maybe Neal?” Ruby shrugged. “I mean, since he and Emma said they weren't going to be moving in together for a while…”

Hook slowly lifted his head, his eyes lighting up. _Neal,_ he mouthed. _Yes._

“And I’ll talk to Regina about giving you your voice back,” Robin said, shifting his eyes. “It really freaks me out, watching you mouth stuff like that. It reminds me of mimes…you know, the nutters who pretend to be trapped in invisible boxes?” He shuddered. “The stuff of nightmares.”

“On the condition that he doesn't hit on Regina,” Ruby said, elbowing Hook hard in the ribs; he inhaled sharply, holding his side. 

“Right. Because if he does, I’m going to punch him. And you can ask Graham what it feels like to get a Loxley-punch.” Robin smirked. “I’m fairly certain, he’s still got the bruise.”

* * *

 

The doorbell rang. Regina closed her eyes, laying her pen down on the stack of papers in front of her. _Better not be any more of those goddamn Christmas carolers,_ she thought, getting up from her desk. 

That was the disadvantage of working from her home office: people could make annoying social calls any time they wanted. How many times had David dropped by to borrow her deep-dish pan? How many times had Tink knocked on the door, asking if she had any slutty heels she could use? How many times had—?

The doorbell rang again, more insistently. “I’m _coming!_ ” Regina called irritably, walking a little quicker down the hall. “ _Jesus…_ ”

She swung the door open, wincing against the icy blast of wind. Robin, Hook, and Ruby stood on her porch, shivering violently and huddling together; there were icicles in Hook’s and Robin’s mustaches, and Ruby’s bangs. 

“What? What do you want? I’m working.”

“You’re not going to let me in?” Robin asked through chattered teeth.

“If I let you in, I’m going to have to let _them_ in—“

“Regina, come on!” Robin said incredulously.

“All _right.”_ Regina exhaled loudly, and stood back, holding the door open wider. “Come in, come in. Shake the snow off your shoes—Hook, _shoes._ ”

He rolled his eyes, but kicked his shoes against the doorframe to get rid of the snow. _Happy?_ he mouthed, sweeping his arms dramatically.

“Not very. You’re in my house, aren't you?” Regina gave him a sour smile, and shut the door behind them. “What do you guys want?”

“Cup of tea would be lovely,” Robin shuddered, rubbing his arms. “But actually, we came here to talk to you about something.”

Regina glanced at Hook, who was carefully avoiding her gaze. “Cup of tea, coming up,” she said, beckoning for them to follow her into the kitchen. “Ruby and Hook, I’d offer you tea, but frankly, I’m worried about contracting something if you use my china, so you’ll have to content yourselves with looking on jealously.”

Robin made himself at home and pulled out a stool, while Ruby and Hook walked in more cautiously. “Sit down, sit down,” Robin invited them, waving them in. “It’s all right.”

Regina pursed her lips as she set the water to boil. She didn't much appreciate Robin inviting them in on her behalf. “So,” she said, turning away from the stove. “What’s up?”

“Well…” Ruby glanced sideways at Robin. “We were kind of wondering…”

“…if it’s not too much trouble…” he said carefully.

“…if you could possibly—“

“—maybe, perhaps—“

“—just a little bit-ish—“

“—give Hook’s voice back?”

“Give it back?” Regina snorted. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I asked you to?” Robin said hopefully. “Come on, it’s Christmas.”

“Why do people keep telling me that?” she asked the ceiling. “I _know_ it’s Christmas, I’m well aware. I’ve got a Christmas party two weeks from now, and I’ve still got a shit ton of planning to catch up on.”

“Peace on earth, Regina,” Robin reminded her. “Goodwill to all men.”

“Please, Regina?” Ruby folded her hands together, tucking them under her chin. “If I need to yell at him, I at least want him to be able to fight back.”

Regina raised a skeptical eyebrow. 

“And I’ve already told him, that if he says one word to you, I’m going to punch him,” Robin said, elbowing Hook a little too hard to be entirely friendly. 

“It’s true,” Ruby chirped. “And I’ll make sure he doesn't say anything, either. I’ve got ways of punishing him—not like _that,”_ she said exasperatedly as Hook raised a roguish eyebrow. “I mean it, you’re not going to like it.”

Hook shrugged.

“Ignore him,” Robin said quickly, seeing Regina’s eyes narrow. “Just give him his voice back, please?”

“Why?”

“Because he’s my best friend.”

“Okay, _why_ does everyone say that about Hook?” Regina said, dumbfounded. “You’re literally the fourth person who’s said that to me.”

Hook smiled smugly, putting his arm around Robin’s shoulders and leaning his head against him. Ruby rolled her eyes, tutting under her breath about what an idiot he was. 

“It’s Christmas,” Robin pleaded, now putting his own arm around Hook’s shoulders. “And also, if I can’t talk to Hook, then I have to talk to Neal, and Neal judges me. A lot. He’s a very judge-y person.”

Regina tapped her nails deliberately on the counter, eyeing them thoughtfully. She really didn't want to: it had only been a few hours, but already they were the best hours she’d had since Hook landed in Storybrooke a couple years ago.

“I’ll think about it,” she said finally, getting up to fix the tea. Robin got up from his seat, following her to the stove.

“Regina, come on,” he wheedled as she poured boiling tea into two cups. He pitched his voice down, shifting his eyes around furtively. “Look, Granny threw him out, and he’s got nowhere to stay. How’s he going to talk someone into letting him crash on their couch if he can’t talk?”

“Granny threw him out?” Regina laughed. “That’s hilarious.”

“It is. And you know what’s even more hilarious? Me, telling Hook he can stay here if he can’t find anywhere else, because you won’t give him his voice back.”

Regina slammed the spoon down, whirling around to look at Robin furiously. “You wouldn't dare!”

“Wouldn’t I?” he challenged in a rare moment of defiance.

“You can’t do that. It’s _my_ house.”

Robin gave her a scoffing look. “He’s learned his lesson, all right? He know he’s done wrong, and believe me, he’ll be quite reluctant to displease you again. You _know_ how much Hook loves to talk: this is killing him.”

“He still looks very much alive to me,” Regina sniffed. 

“Please, Regina?”

She exhaled, looking up at the ceiling. “ _Fine,_ ” she said crossly. Robin whirled around, giving the other two a thumbs-up, beaming.

“She’ll do it!”

“Really?” Ruby said, sounding surprised.

“Yes, really.” Regina turned around, giving Hook an irritable look. “If you hadn't somehow brainwashed Robin into thinking the two of you were friends, I wouldn't be doing this,” she warned him. “And next time— _you’re not getting your voice back._ Do you understand me?”

Hook nodded obediently, like a small child being scolded.

“All right.” Regina reluctantly waved her hand, letting out a small pulse of magic. Hook felt his throat, opening and closing his mouth experimentally. 

“Salamanders….salamanders…salamanders—it worked!” he said delightedly. “I can talk again!”

“Salamanders?” Robin repeated quizzically.

“It’s one of my favorite words,” Hook shrugged. “I just like saying it. But Ruby, listen! My voice, my beautiful voice, is back! Oh, didn't you miss it?”

“So much,” Ruby said, lifting the corners of her mouth in a smile. “So. Much.”

Hook’s smile faded. “You’re still cross with me, aren't you?”

“Not very,” she sighed, getting up from her seat. “Come on, I’ll drop you off at Neal’s, so you can talk to him.”

“Isn’t she the best?” Hook beamed at Regina and Robin over his shoulder as he followed Ruby out the door. “Putting up with the likes of me—“

“Get out of my house, Hook,” Regina said loudly. 

“Happy Christmas, Reg—!“

The door slammed, cutting off the rest of his farewell. Robin sighed wearily, taking the teacup Regina offered him.

“What a morning we’ve had, eh?” he asked, retaking his seat at the counter. “Me with Hook, you with the Charming’s—“

“Oh, God, don’t get me started.”

“Too late,” he grinned, already hearing the threat of a rant in her voice. 

“I just can’t believe I spent my morning arguing with those lunatics about whether or not Emma should move into an apartment three doors down,” Regina scoffed. “I mean, it’s _three doors down._ And she’s in her thirties, for God’s sake. She has to leave the nest _sometime.”_

Robin nodded, rolling his eyes. “Ridiculous,” he said. “If anything, I thought they’d be pleased about Henry’s parents living together: it’s better for the boy to have a mother and father  looking out for him, than single parents pulling him back and forth.”

Regina raised her eyebrows. “And what about me?” she asked thinly. “Single parents…?”

“But you’re not a single parent anymore,” Robin smiled, reaching across the counter to pat her hand. “You’ve got me. I just meant, it’s better for Henry to have less homes to bounce back and forth between.”

“But you do know I was a single parent for eleven years, right?” Regina frowned.

“Yes, I _know,_ ” Robin sighed. “I was a single parent for a while, too, though, Regina. I know how stressful it is on everyone, so yes—I think it’s better that you’ve got an extra set of eyes watching your boy with you.” 

Regina eyed him carefully. “So…you think it’s good that Henry’s parents are living together? Or will be?”

“Yes.” Robin took a sip of his tea, shrugging. “I mean, they’re completely mental and living down the hall from another set of nutters, but yes, I think it’s good.”

“Because parents raising a child together should be living together. Or it’s confusing for the child.”

“Right.”

“Provides stability. Provides a sense of reliance, dependence…”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Good, because I think you should move in.”

Robin choked on his tea, spitting it back into the cup. Regina looked on blandly as he coughed into his elbow and pounded himself on the chest.

“Sorry,” he rasped. “Caught me off guard.”

“Do you disagree?” Regina asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn't say that,” he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. “It’s just… very sudden.”

“Robin, I’ve got a kid coming in seventh months. _Our_ kid. If anyone should be talking about moving in together, it’s us.”

“That’s a good point,” Robin nodded, still breathless.

“And if you can invite homeless pirates to stay here, that means you already consider it to be ‘home’, so…” Regina trailed off, dropping her eyes to her cup; she swirled the contents, frowning slightly as though she found it extremely fascinating to see tea dregs mingling with sugar crystals, while she waited for Robin to say something.

“Of course, I consider it ‘home’.”

She looked up, seeing a small smile on Robin’s face, a soft look in his eyes. “Do you?” she said shortly, clearing her throat against the little rush of emotion rising in her chest (hormones, mood swings, chemical imbalances, that’s all it was).

“Of course, I do.” Robin took her hand, smiling. “You’re here, Henry’s here…it’s got that armchair I like.”

Regina laughed a little, smiling into her cup. 

“And Little What’s-Her-Name is going to be here, soon enough,” he said, nodding at her stomach. “We’ve got a nice little family going here, don't we?”

“Is that a yes, then?” Regina asked, lifting her eyebrows. 

“That’s a ‘yes’.” Robin leaned across the counter to kiss her. “That’s a definite ‘yes’.”

 

 

* * *

 

“So, when are you going to start unpacking these?” Emma asked, surveying the box-scattered room with hands on her hips. “It still feels so empty in here, I hate it.”

“Won’t be so empty once you start bringing your stuff in,” Neal said cheerfully, carrying the last box over to the kitchen. “Still interested, right?”

“ _Yes,_ I’m still interested,” Emma smiled, and cast a considering gaze around the apartment. “I think we’re going to have to do some shopping, though. You don’t even have paper plates.”

“Yeah, I got a lot to do,” Neal said, straightening and brushing his hands off. “And then, I have to go to New York and pack up all that stuff I have left in the apartment, find some moving guys to do that…Shit.”

“What?”

“No, I just realized—“ Neal swore under his breath. “How are they going to get all my stuff here? They can’t cross the town line, it’s under that cloaking spell thing.”

“It is? That’s still going on?”

“Yeah, that’s still going on.” Neal rubbed his eyes tiredly, sighing. “Okay, new plan.”

“What if we just buy new furniture?” Emma suggested. “Because, honestly, I don’t know how comfortable I’d feel using furniture that a bunch of college kids have been laying around in.”

“Good point,” he mused. “But I still have all that stuff there…you know, like personal stuff.”

“Take my dad’s truck, pack it up,” she shrugged. “Sell the furniture, drop off the keys, and bring everything you want to keep home in the pick-up.”

“That’s an idea…” Neal perched on a box, folding his arms thoughtfully. “I told Hook I was going to have him come with me to help me out, though. Don’t know if I can survive a seven-hour road trip to New York with him.”

“He’s pretty good with cars now.”

“Yeah, but the talking…Seven hours, Em. And you know how bored he gets.”

“He can listen to Beyonce for _hours._ Ask Ruby for her CD, you’ll be fine.”

Neal smiled. “You have a solution for everything, don't you?”

“Meh,” Emma said, looking pleased nonetheless. “I try.”

They looked up as someone knocked on the door. Neal got up to answer, grinning at Emma as he passed her.

“Our first visitor,” he said, raising his eyebrows enticingly. “Who could it—? Oh, goddamn it.”

“Neal!” Hook threw his arms around Neal delightedly, as if he hadn't seen him in years. “My dear friend! My _beloved, beautiful_ friend! And Emma!” He kept one arm around Neal’s neck, holding the other out to Emma. “Lady Emma, whose kindness is matched only by her beauty! A true woman of good heart—“

“What, Hook?” Emma said flatly, not charmed in the least. “What do you want?”

“Granny evicted me, and I need a place to stay,” Hook said abruptly, dropping his arms. “So, I needs you to move all your girly shit out of the apartment, Swan. Like, now.”

“Why, so you can move all _your_ girly shit in here? I don’t think so,” she scoffed. 

“I need a place to stay,” Hook insisted. “Neal—“

“What? _No._ No, Hook, you’re not staying—“

“Yes, I think I am.”

“No. You’re not. Come on, get out of here—“

“I need a place to stay, _Neal!_ ” Hook said in ringing tones. “Granny threw me out!”

 _Oh, my God, this isn't happening,_ Neal thought, covering his eyes with both hands. _This is_ not _happening._ No way was Hook moving in here, no fucking way. It had been bad enough, living next door to him, but _sharing an apartment_ with him? Absolutely not. 

“Stay with Ruby!” Emma was saying when he finally emerged from behind his hands. “She’s the one who got you thrown out, you’re _her_ problem now!”

“First of all, how _dare_ you call me a problem!” Hook said indignantly. “I am a gift from Heaven, thank you very much!”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“And secondly,” Hook said as if she hadn't spoken, “Ruby and I aren't even _close_ to the moving-in-together phase, are you insane?”

“What about your ship?” Neal said before Emma could retort. “Can’t you just live there?”

Hook stared at him. “Live on my _ship?_ ” he said incredulously. “You want me to try to survive, in the dead of winter, with temperatures below freezing in fucking _Maine,_ docked on the water in an old ship with no heating? Do you _want_ me to freeze to death?”

“You lived there for two hundred years, didn’t you?” Emma said, throwing up her hands. 

“I was in tropical waters, _Emma!_ ” Hook snapped. “I wasn't in fucking Maine! Neal, help me.”

“But…” Neal looked between the two of them helplessly, from Hook’s fuming face to Emma’s glowering one. “But me and Emma…”

“It’s only _temporary_ ,” Hook said, as though he didn't think much of Neal’s taste in Emma. “I just need a place until I can get back on my feet.”

“Back on your feet, or Ruby on her back?” Emma shot back. 

“I _told_ you, the only reason I’m not asking Ruby is because we’re not there yet!” Hook glared. “Come on, Neal! Help a friend in need!”

“I—“

“You’re not seriously going to do this?” Emma demanded, rounding on him. “You said, you didn't think you could stand a seven-hour road trip with him, how do you think you’re going to handle _living_ with him?”

“Road trip? Where are we going?”

“New York. Listen, Em—“

“ _New York?_ ” Hook gasped. “Oh, my God, I _love_ New York! I’ve been there before, remember?”

“Yeah, when you poisoned my dad with dreamshade? Yeah, I remember.”

“Oh, those were the days…” Hook grinned, and elbowed Emma. “Remember those days?”

“Yeah, I remember those days.”

“Isn’t it funny?” he said, slinging his arms around them again. “We used to _hate_ each other so much! And now look at us—inseparable!”

“No—no, _very_ separable,” Emma said, ducking out from Hook’s arm. “I’m separating you right now—right out of the apartment, because you’re _not living here._ ”

“Do you remember climbing the beanstalk with me?” he grinned, keeping his arm firmly around Neal. “Remember how we bonded?”

“Do you remember how I kicked your ass at Lake Nostos?” Emma said coolly. 

Hook’s smile faded. “Like hell you did. I _let_ you win.”

“Please,” she snorted.

“I did. I thought you were cute, so I let you win.”

“Oh, you _did not._ ”

“Sure I did! Neal, didn't I let her win?”

“I really don’t know,” Neal said wearily.

“Well, I did,” Hook scoffed. “Three hundred years of pirating under my belt, and you honestly think I can’t beat a girl who’s only been holding a sword for three hours? Pull the other one!”

“You think this is going to get Neal to let you move in?” Emma said witheringly. “ _Ooh,_ you’re better at _sword-fighting_ —like anyone cares!”

“You care,” Hook said smugly. “Or you wouldn't be arguing with me.”

“Guy,” Neal began, but Emma cut in.

“Excuse me, _Homeless,_ but do you really think you should be antagonizing me right now? When you need me to give you a place to stay?”

“I don’t _need_ you. It’s Neal’s apartment.”

“It’s _our_ apartment!”

“Oh, really? Who’s paying the rent right now?”

“Well…Neal, but—“

“HA!” Hook jabbed a finger at her triumphantly. “So, it’s _Neal’s_ apartment right now! And you know what that means? _Neal_ is the one who decides whether or not I stay! And I’ll do you one better,” he added, rounding on Neal. “You let me stay, I’ll pay half the rent. Emma can’t move in right now anyway, and wouldn't it be nice to save a little extra cash for your guys’s…next pizza night, or whatever it is that you consider a date?”

Neal raised his eyebrows at Emma, shrugging. “He’s got a point.”

“But if you let him stay, he’s never going to leave,” Emma said desperately. “We’ll never get rid of him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hook snorted. “You’ll hardly see me at all. I intend to spend as little time in this apartment as possible. All I need is a place to sleep for the night…” He grinned, giving a little shrug. “ _Occasionally.”_

“So…you’ll pay half the rent, and you’re barely going to be here at all?” Neal said.

“That’s right.”

“Half the rent, barely here.”

“Yes, and _hell yes._ ”

“I feel like you’re lying.”

“I feel like hugging you, but I’m resisting.” 

Emma rolled her eyes, exhaling irritably. “Just let him stay, Neal,” she said. “He’s not going to leave us alone, one way or the other. Might as well get half the rent out of it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	56. Chapter 56

Whale yawned as he shuffled into the kitchen, sliding the knot up his tie. The intoxicatingly bold aroma of morning coffee wafted through the air; he breathed it in appreciatively.

“Thanks,” he said as Graham handed him a cup. He took a sip as he pulled the chair across him out, and sat down. Graham frowned at a newspaper, absently dunking his toast in his coffee. 

“So,” Whale said, reaching over to steal a piece of toast, “how’s your morning going?”

“Going,” he shrugged, tossing the newspaper to the side. “Nothing interesting there, in case you’re wondering. Just some more Christmas sales, and an article on some huge snowman the kids built—“

“Oh, how nice—“

“—that nearly caused a major car accident when it rolled down the hill into the middle of traffic.”

“…Oh.”

“Meh.” 

 _Fair point,_ Whale thought. “Meh” was a perfectly suitable response: Graham had probably seen things far worse than a disruptive snowman, as sheriff and ex-Huntsman; Whale certainly had in his emergency room.

“Mmm—“ Graham set down his coffee, swallowing the sip he had just taken. “Weirdest thing happened to me today.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah— _Jefferson Hatter_ called me.” Graham gave a bemused little shake of his head. “I don’t even know him. I think I met him…maybe three times at Granny’s? And he’s asking me if I want to hang out this weekend.”

Whale raised his eyebrows. “Like a date?”

“What?”

“You said he asked you out.”

“No, I said he asked me if I wanted to _hang out_.” 

“Oh. Well, that’s different, then.”

“Yeah.”

“Totally heterosexual.”

Graham raised an eyebrow, giving him a strange look. “Victor…you know I’m not gay, right?”

Whale choked on his coffee. “Sorry?” he coughed.

“You know I’m not gay?” Graham repeated.

“No, I know.”

“I mean, it’s not like I have a problem with it, but I’m just…not.”

“Yeah, okay. I’m sure, he meant it totally platonically.” 

“He did.”

“I know.”

“I’m not gay.”

Whale nodded. Graham frowned at his fingernails, as if he suddenly found them extremely fascinating. _Oh, God…._ Had there ever been a more awkward silence in this house? 

Whale cleared his throat, taking another sip of coffee. “So, uh…you gonna go?”

Graham looked up. “Sorry?”

“Are you gonna go this weekend? Hang out with Jefferson?”

“Oh. Well, yeah, I mean…” Graham blew out a breath. “I could use a night off. You know, I never even _see_ Hook at the station anymore, and Neal and Emma just sit in her office all day and pretend to go through files. Meanwhile, I’m sitting there, trying to correct all this old paperwork, by myself…Not that there’s much else to do here,” he sighed, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “ _Christ,_ this town is boring.”

“You should come down to the hospital,” Whale snorted, thinking about the last guy who’d come in with half his toes off because of a poorly handled shovel. “It’s not boring there.”

“Is it weird that I kinda miss the cursed days?” Graham mused. “I had a nice little thing going there, you know? Coffee in the morning, go to the station, do an even mix of patrol and paperwork, have a drink at Granny’s, and go home. I had friends, I had—“

“An extremely creepy relationship with Regina.”

“Yeah, I’ll give you that,” he grimaced. “But other than that…”

Whale lifted an eyebrow. “This isn't still about Emma, right?”

“Oh, well, Emma…” Graham shrugged his shoulders, tilting his hand back and forth. “Meh. I’ve been thinking about it…I didn't really know her all that well, it’s not like we ever really had a thing. And she and Neal seem very… _suited_ to each other.”

“That’s the general consensus,” Whale agreed, taking another sip. “At least, among my nurses.”

“Your nurses?”

“The break room is their unofficial meeting place for discussing everyone else’s lives,” he explained, getting up to refill his cup. “Gossip is like oxygen to them.” He poured another stream of coffee into his cup, and wandered back to the table. “So what’s brought on this nostalgia for the curse days, if it’s not Emma?”

“ _Boredom,_ ” Graham sighed. “I don’t have a social life. All the friends I had were _cursed_ friends. It’s weird, now, because they’re all different and I’m the same…”

“Then you gotta make new friends,” Whale shrugged. “Or live a doctor’s life—make friends with your patients. Until they die, or get released. And then you get depressed and drink, and go back and make friends with the new ones.”

“But the only ‘patient’ I ever really have anymore is Leroy,” Graham complained. “And it’s only for a night, for ‘drunken misconduct’ or something.”

“You should make friends with your coworkers then,” Whale said. “Maybe you should ask them if they want to go for drinks or something.”

“I don’t know,”  Graham said uncomfortably. “Things are still…awkward, you know? Like, Emma ’s always reminding me that she has a boyfriend. Neal’s always giving me these suspicious looks. Hook, God only knows. He does this thing where he stares at me, like—“ he waved his hand—“like he thinks he can set me on fire with his mind or something. And that’s if he bothers showing up. ‘Cause, see, when he _doesn’t,_ I call him up and ask him where he is, and he starts accusing me of stalking him, and it turns into this whole thing…” He shook his head, making a face. “Nah, I really don’t want to have drinks with them.”

“But that’s why you _should,_ ” Whale insisted. “Get past the awkwardness, spend some time with them. At least with guys, anyway—Emma’s going to assume you’re asking her out. See, then, they might be more cooperative at work, and you won’t come home all stressed and bitchy. I-I mean, all stressed,” he amended hastily as Graham’s eyes widened.

“You think I’m bitchy?” he said, pointing to himself. 

“I didn't say that,” Whale said, avoiding his gaze. 

“Yes, you did. You think I’m bitchy.”

“No, I think stress _makes_ you bitchy.” Whale frowned as he reviewed his words. “I didn't make that any better, did I?”

“Nope,” Graham smiled through clenched teeth. “Thanks, Vic. Just what I needed to hear.”

Whale blew out a breath as Graham got up, snatching his coat off the back of his chair. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” he said tightly, jerking his collar. “I’m glad you told me.”

“Well, don’t get upset—“

“Who’s upset?”

“ _You_ are. Very clearly, I might add.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re leaving in the middle of breakfast,” Whale protested. “You’re upset.”

“No, I just have to get to work.” Graham zipped up his jacket, his jaw clenched. “You know what? You’re right. I need to expand my social scene. So maybe I _will_ ask Neal and Hook out for drinks. _Heterosexually!_ ” he added as Whale raised an eyebrow. He stalked across the room and wrenched the door open.

“Have a nice day,” Whale called out; and muttered after he slammed the door shut, “Try not to come home too bitchy.”

* * *

 

It was a morning like any other: whiny kids in the clinic and crotchety old people in the wards; juggling patient files and double-checking the nurses; drinking coffee and wistfully thinking about the bottle of vodka stashed in his kitchen cupboard at home. And then, of course, Regina called him her customary fifty times, asking questions about pregnancy details that he didn't have the time or energy to really answer. When his lunch break finally came around, Whale practically ran out the door, eager to leave the world of gossipy nurses and bitter patients behind.

Against his better judgment, he decided to go to Granny’s for lunch. Normally, he ate in the hospital cafeteria, but he just needed out of that hospital. Even the risk of food poisoning wasn't enough to keep him in there a second longer than necessary. 

He swung open the door to Granny’s, impatiently batting away the holly garland that came loose from the frame, and started making his way to the counter. 

“Hey, Granny,” he said wearily, nodding to the old woman.

“How’s it going, Doc?”

“Fine, whatever…” He trailed off, frowning as he noticed Henry sitting there, casually typing on his phone. Wasn't it a school day? He pulled out the stool next to him. “Hey, Henry.”

“Hey, Dr. Whale,” Henry said absently, not looking up from his phone. “What’s up?”

“Just…grabbing lunch.” Whale coughed into his fist uncertainly. “Uh,shouldn’t you be in school?”

“We had finals today,” Henry said, his fingers a blur as they danced over the keyboard. “Only had to go in the morning.”

“Oh, nice.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Henry finally closed his phone, setting it down on the counter as he turned in his seat to face Whale. “So, how’s Graham?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Haven’t had a chance to talk to him in a while.”

Whale grimaced. “Stressed, which means—“

“Bitchy,” Henry nodded knowingly, remembering when they’d still been teaching an overwhelmed Graham about the updated Storybrooke. 

“Yup.” Whale lifted a finger as Ashley came around with the coffee pot, signaling for a cup. “Thanks, Ash.”

“No problem,” she chirped. “You want anything, Henry?”

‘’I’ll order in a bit,” Henry assured her. “I’m waiting for someone.”

Whale turned, looking at him in surprise. “Henry…I didn't know you had friends.”

Henry stared at him with half-lidded eyes, and slowly opened his mouth in sarcastic laughter: “… _Ha.”_

Whale snorted into his cup.

“Especially since _you’ve_ got such a thriving social life, yourself,” Henry added coolly. 

“I’m a doctor,” Whale shrugged, taking another sip. “I don’t have time for a social life.”

“Which is why you really should make more of an effort to get along with your boyfriend. No matter how bitchy he is.” Henry smiled sweetly as Whale glowered at him.

“You know something, Henry—“

He was cut off by the sound of the entrance bell jingling as the door opened and someone swept inside. 

“Hey, Henry,” a girl’s voice said behind him, and a dark-haired girl suddenly came into view, dropping her backpack on the counter between Whale and Henry.

“Hey,” Henry said, glancing over. “How was it?”

“Not too bad,” she shrugged, tugging off her coat. “But I think I messed up the oxidation-reduction crap. Again.”

“Sucks.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Okay, so I’m just gonna go wash my hands real quick, I’ll be back.” She glanced over shoulder at Whale. “Oh, hi.”

Whale raised his eyebrows. “Hi.”

The girl looked him up and down, and apparently lost interest because she gave a little shrug of her shoulder and went off to the bathroom without another word. Whale slowly slid his eyes back to Henry, who seemed determinedly casual about the whole exchange.

“Is that…?”

“Violet, she’s just a friend,” he said, with the air of someone who’s been asked the same question a million times. 

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t start,” Henry said, narrowing his eyes.

“She meet your parents yet?”

“Did you ask Graham out yet?”

“Ooh-hoo-hoo,” Whale grinned. “Getting defensive. You know what _that_ means.”

Henry slit his eyes, daring him to continue.

“ _Henry’s got a girlfriend, Henry’s got a girlfriend..”_ he sang softly. His smile grew as Henry’s glare darkened. “Sorry, am I embarrassing you?”

“You know what?” Henry leaned forward, pointing a finger at him. “At least I _have_ a girlfriend. What do you have? Lean Cuisine and _Star Wars?_ ”

Whale’s smile faded. _What a little shit._ “Okay, that’s it,” he decided, digging his phone out of his jacket pocket. “Next time your mom calls, asking me about the difference between different brands of prenatal vitamins, I’m going to mention that I met your _girlfriend—_ your words—and we both know how much she’ll love that.”

Henry’s eyes widened briefly, a flicker of fear in his face before he quickly schooled his features into a stony expression. “No, you won’t.”

“Won’t I?” Whale raised his eyebrows challengingly. “Try me.” He raised his eyes, catching a flurry of movement in the background: Violet, on her way back from the bathroom. “Speak of the she-devil…”

Henry twisted in his seat, looking over his shoulder; and whipped his head back to Whale, raising a threatening finger. “Don’t you dare embarrass me,” he hissed. “Or I swear to God, I’m going to—“

Whale put a finger to his lips, and silently held up his phone. “Can’t threaten me, Henry,” he whispered back. “I already won.”

 


	57. Chapter 57

 

 

Regina stared out the window with half-lidded eyes, tapping her fingers deliberately against the car door. Emma glanced at her sideways, but didn’t say anything; she just took another sip of her coffee, and moved her eyes back to the front. 

It was called a _stakeout,_ Emma had said proudly. When she’d originally pitched the idea to Regina in her warm, heated kitchen—to spy on Henry and Violet using her finest bailbondsperson techniques—Regina had readily agreed. How useful, to have a professional snooper as her son’s other mother! Then, they could find out exactly who this Violet bitch was, and why she was trying to take their son away. Fifteen-year-old girls were, they agreed, Satan’s chosen form. 

Sitting in the freezing car at ten o’clock at night, it seemed like the stupidest idea Emma had ever had. _Idiot._

But it was necessary. She’d talked to Whale again that morning, concerned about the dull ache in her head (turned out, she had low blood sugar and needed a coffee); and he had told her something that had stirred in her a rage that she did not know she was capable of feeling. And she had gone on a frenzied, heart-ripping rampage throughout her entire kingdom before—multiple times. 

 _“_ Yeah, sorry I didn't pick up earlier,” he’d said. “I was at lunch, at Granny’s. Actually, funny story—I ran into Henry there…and his _girlfriend._ ”

Regina had nearly dropped the phone, feeling her eyes nearly pop out of her skull. “H-h-h-his _WHAT?”_

“Girlfriend,” Whale repeated cheerfully. “His words. Oh, you should see them, it’s adorable. Violet, I think her name was. I remember, she came in once for a broken arm—“

“I’M GOING TO GIVE HER A LOT MORE THAN A BROKEN ARM!”

“What?” he scoffed. “Come on, Regina, they’re only fifteen. What kind of shenanigans could _two teenagers with raging hormones_ get into? Pshaw, you’re overreacting…”

She could practically _hear_ the smug little smile on his face as he hung up the phone, but she was too furious to ask after it. She had fumed all the way over to Neal’s, muttering venomously under her breath, her eyes burning hot enough to turn the entire town to ash. 

Neal hadn't been there, but Emma was—hard at work, poking through boxes critically and scowling at the influx of black leather that hung off the railing. Regina had stopped at the doorway; so caught off guard that for a moment, she forgot she was angry.

“What the hell is this?” she asked, gesturing at the railings. 

“Hook moved in with Neal,” Emma had answered bitterly. “His closet exploded—guess what? It’s all leather. _All_ of it.”

Regina shook her head bemusedly. “Why does he have so much leather?”

“Who the fuck knows?” Emma snapped, throwing up her hands. “I came over to see if I left my badge here, and I saw _this!_ ” She flung out her hand at what Regina now realized was a pile of black leather vests slung over the railing. 

Regina blinked, and gave her head a little shake. “Never mind that, we’ve got bigger problems.”

And after she told Emma about her conversation with Whale, Emma agreed with her: bigger problems indeed. That was why they were cooped up in the cramped little car right now: to _solve_ said problems. 

Although, it didn't seem like they were doing much at this point. Regina blew out a breath, her eyes still fixed on the empty scene. 

“This is boring.”

“It takes time, Regina,” Emma said tensely. “Criminals don't just pop up when it’s convenient.”

“So…what, we just here and wait?”

“Pretty much,” Emma shrugged. “Unless you want to talk. We can talk.”

Regina grimaced. _Talk._ Ugh. “All right, fine, let’s talk,” she said. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know…What’d you do today?”

 _Oh, God help me._ “Christmas shopping,” she said. “Found some nice sweaters for Henry.”

Emma frowned, turning her head to look at her.  “You’re giving him some _nice sweaters?_ ” she repeated incredulously.

Regina slit her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Emma slowly lifted her eyebrows, looking at her with wide eyes. “Nothing…” she said, turning back to the window. 

They lapsed back into silence. Regina gritted her teeth: the sheer boredom threatened break her mind past the point of sanity, so against her better judgment, she decided to try to strike up another conversation.

“So, have you gotten all your shopping done?”

“Mmm—“ Emma made a face, shrugging her shoulders. “Still can’t find anything for Neal. He’s so hard to shop for.”

“How about a scarf?”

“He does loves scarves…” Emma mused. “Maybe.”

“Uh-uh, no,” a voice said behind them. “No scarves.”

“ _JESUS CHRIST!”_

Neal had popped in the backseat out of _nowhere,_ looking at Regina blandly while she stared at him, gasping for breath. “You all right?” he asked after a minute. 

“Am I all—? _Where did you even come from?_ ”

“Tiny hovel in the forest originally, but I tell people ‘New York’.”

Regina put a hand to her rapidly beating heart, and stared at Emma with wide eyes. “Did you know he was back there?” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Emma said contently, taking another sip of her coffee. “Hey, Neal—what do you want for Christmas?”

“I don’t know. Better roommate?” Neal sat forward, rubbing his eyes. “It’s been one night, and I’m already dreaming about killing him.”

“Haven’t we all?” Emma muttered. 

“What were you doing back there?” Regina asked, still looking at Neal with wide eyes. “You scared the _shit_ out of me!”

“Emma said you guys were going on  stakeout, and I wanted to come,” he shrugged. “I thought it was a station job, so when I found out it was just you guys meddling in the Henry-Violet-thing, I lost interest.”

“And fell asleep, in a freezing car—do you know how dangerous that is?”

“ _Aww,”_ Neal smiled, nudging his fist against her shoulder. “Little sis is worried about me.”

“Oh, shut up,” Regina said witheringly as Emma snorted into her coffee. “You know what, Neal? If you’re going to be here, you’re going to be useful. You’re good at picking locks, right?”

“All in the tumblers,” he said, poking Emma.

“Tumblers,” she chimed, smiling back. “All in the tumblers.”

Regina looked between them, then gave  her head a little shake. “Whatever. Anyway, I want you to go up to the house and pick the lock—“

“No, no, no, no,” Neal said, shaking his head. “I’m not helping you guys in your mom-stalking.”

“Neal,” Regina frowned. “This is what it means to be a responsible parent. You have to spy on your children, to make sure they’re not being sneaky, and to save them from the dumbfuck disasters they get themselves into.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” he said. “Nothing’s going to happen, they’re just hanging out.”

Regina’s eyebrow shot up. “Are you serious? They’re _teenagers,_ Neal. _Teenagers._ ”

“Yeah, which doesn't necessarily mean something bad will happen,” he said patiently. 

“You don’t think something bad could happen?”

“Henry’s a good kid, and Violet seems like a smart girl. So, no, I really don’t.”

“Look at their genes!” Regina said wildly. “They’re going to run off and live in a car together and knock over dime stores until they steal  twenty grand’s worth of watches and she gets knocked up, and then we have a Henry Junior to deal with! _Is that what you want?_ ”

Emma cleared her throat. “Actually, I’m kinda hungry, so I want something to eat. Anyone want to pop by the pharmacy, grab a a bag of chips or something?”

“Chips,” Neal nodded approvingly. “Let’s get chips.”

“Chips? What? No!” Regina shook her head in disbelief. “You guys, what happened to the stakeout?”

“We’ll come back,” Emma promised, turning the key in the ignition. “I just want some chips right now.”

“Clark’s is only, like, thirty seconds away,” Neal said, seeing Regina’s incredulous face. “Unless you’re craving something else?”

“I’m not craving anything, except _Violet’s blood,_ ” Regina growled. “And you two want chips.”

“It’s significantly less creepy than wanting a little girl’s blood,” Neal frowned.

“She’s not a little girl! She’s fifteen! And I was a fifteen-year-old girl once— _I know how they think!_ ”

“Relax, Regina,” Emma said, pulling into the parking lot. “Before the baby sets the car on fire.”

Regina glowered, putting a hand on her stomach. Emma was right, she knew: when she got overemotional, Baby Witch seemed to get a little trigger-happy with the explosions.

“Okay, so chips, and—“ Neal pointed to her—“Regina, you want anything?”

“No.”

“‘Kay. Be right back.”

Neal hopped out of the car, wrapping his coat tightly around him against the wintry wind. Emma and Regina watched him tug open the door of the almost empty store and walk inside.

“Boy, that’s gotta suck,” Emma said, shaking her head. “Running a crappy little store like that, day in, day out.”

“Clark must hate his life,” Regina agreed. 

“Not as much as Leroy.”

“Meaning…Leroy hates his life more, or Clark hates Leroy more?”

“I meant the first, but I s’pose it could be the second, too.”

“Can’t think of anyone who _likes_ Leroy.”

“I bet even his mother didn't like him.”

“Dwarves don’t have mothers; they hatch from eggs, full-grown.”

“….Seriously?”

“Yup.”

“ _Shit_. That’s fucked up.”

“Right?”

Neal walked out of the store, carrying a plastic bag. When he got in the car, he slid into the seat behind Emma and held it  out to her. “Here’s your chips.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, taking the bag. “Regina, you want some?”

Regina eyed the bag disdainfully. “No.”

 _“_ Suit yourself.”

“And—“ Neal grinned, opening his hand to dangle a silvery chain—“I got you a keychain.”

Regina rolled her eyes as Emma squealed, “ _Neal!”_ and turned around in her seat to kiss him. _Why_ Emma was so delighted by a fifty-cent keychain from Clark’ store, she hadn't the slightest idea; but Neal was laughing quietly as Emma marveled over it, the two of them acting infuriatingly adorable. _Spare me._

“Can you two stop being cute for two minutes?” she asked dryly. “If it’s not too much trouble?”

“No can do, ‘Gina,” Neal said seriously while Emma affectionately ruffled his hair. “It’s kind of our thing.”

“ _Don’t_ call me ‘Gina’,” Regina said through clenched teeth. “How many times, Neal? How many times do I have to tell you not to call me ‘Gina’?”

“Aw, come on, I call everyone I like by their nickname,” Neal grinned. “Emma’s ‘Em’; you’re ‘Gina’; Hook’s ‘Killy’—“

“I _so_ don’t care right now, ” Regina said loudly, plugging her ears over him. “I just want to find that Violet bitch, and _bury_ her, so can we please get going now?” She waited for an answer, then glanced over at Emma. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, hang on,” Emma said, busy attaching her keychain to the mirror.

“Hey, you know what else?” Neal leaned his elbows on the back of her seat, raising his eyebrows enticingly. “ _I stole it._ ”

Regina widened her eyes as Emma threw back her head and laughed, and twisted in her seat to stare at Neal incredulously. “You ripped off Clark? Seriously? You couldn't spring for fifty cents, you had to _steal_ from _Clark?_ ”

“Oh—“ Neal waved his hand dismissively, shaking his head. “It’s a thing, you had to be there.”

Regina raised her eyebrows. “ _That’s_ your defense? ‘It’s a thing, you had to be there’?”

“I’ll tell you,” Emma said, sitting back in her seat and looking at Neal fondly. “See, when me and Neal were still—I don’t know, how would you describe us?”

“Gypsies. Hipsters.” Neal snapped his fingers, pointing at her. “ _Gypsters._ ”

“Gypsters,” she agreed. “Anyways, when we were gypsters, we were working this convenience store, and…well, yeah, it was a whole thing. Long story short, we nearly got caught, and I saved our asses so we could hightail it out of there, but _not_ before—“ Emma pulled out her swan pendant to show Regina—“he stole this for me. See? It’s a little swan.”

Regina looked at the swan pendant for a long time, then slowly trailed her eyes up, looking between them. “This is what you two find romantic?” she said dubiously. “Stealing keychains from convenience stores?”

“Well, yeah, I mean—“ Neal exchanged a look with Emma, shrugging—“that’s pretty goddamn romantic, right, Em?”

“Oh, definitely,” Emma assured him, nodding her head. “Honestly, we’re so romantic and adorable sometimes, I can’t even.”

Regina opened her mouth, prepared to give Emma a speech that explained why she and Robin beat them by a long shot, when something outside caught her eye: a tall figure, walking along the sidewalk, the lamplight hitting the curve of a silver hook.

“What is he doing?” she frowned. He had to have been absolutely _freezing:_ the man still insisted on walking around with a very thin leather jacket and a shirt that apparently had no working buttons. 

“God, he is so weird…” Neal muttered as Hook stopped at the corner and shouted at a tree. “What’s wrong with him?”

“How much time you got?” Regina said dryly, and they both snorted with laughter. 

“Oh—here he comes,” Emma said, nodding as Hook started hurrying toward the yellow bug. “Yeah, he looks cold.”

Hook stopped by the driver’s door and tapped his hook against the window. Emma pushed the button to lower the window, raising her eyebrows.

“Hey, buddy,” she said. “What’s up?”

“B-b-be a love and l-let me i-i-in, E-Emma,” he chattered. “I d-d-don’t have a r-r-ride h-home, R-Ruby’s g-g-got her w-wolfs time n-n-now. Sh-she’s in her v-vault, b-b-but I f-forgot to m-make arrangements to g-get a ride back.”

“But what are you doing over here? Ruby’s vault is the other way.”

“I h-h-had th-things to t-take c-care of.”

“What things?”

“C-come on, E-Emma!” he shivered furiously. “L-let me in!”

“All right.” Emma jutted her toward the back seat. “Get in.”

Hook bobbed his head in thanks, and quickly ran over to the side and yanked the door open. Regina winced, feeling the icy air breathe on her skin before Hook slammed the door shut. 

“So, what were you doing?” Emma frowned, watching him wrap his jacket tightly around himself, shuddering with cold. “And Jesus Christ, man, buy a winter coat.”

“N-n-not s-s-sexy,” Hook said through chattering teeth. 

“Bullshit,” Emma declared. “I think Neal looks damn sexy in his winter coat.”

Neal raised his eyes to the ceiling, exhaling. “Thanks, Em.”

“C-c-can we t-t-turn up the h-heat?” Hook asked, shivering violently. “P-please? I’m fr-freezing.”

Emma turned the dial over, and twisted back in her seat to talk to him. “So, what were you doing?”

As a response, Hook pulled a small bag out of his jacket pocket and held it out. “Christmas shopping,” he said, leaning forward to catch the warm air coming out of the vents. “I stopped in the jewelry store, got Ruby a little something.” 

“Jewelry—?” Regina stared at him with wide eyes, slightly shaking her head. “You didn't seriously…?”

“Oh, honey, tell me you didn’t,” Emma pleaded while Neal dropped his head in his hands. “It’s—it’s _way_ too early to even be thinking about—“

“It’s not a _ring!_ ” Hook said exasperatedly. “It’s a necklace, you morons! What am I, completely mental?”

“Well—“ Neal began.

“I mean, for God’s sake! We haven't even said… _it_ yet. You know—” Hook glanced around furtively, as if worried there were people listening in on him, and lowered his voice—“ _the L-word.”_

 _“_ Ah, the elusive _L-word,_ ” Regina said in mock reverence. “Because that’s very important in a relationship that’s eighty percent sex and twenty percent alcohol.”

“As opposed to one that’s a hundred percent bitching?” Hook returned sweetly. 

“Robin and I have a very healthy relationship, thank you very much,” Regina said, narrowing her eyes at him. “Just because you can’t understand the concept of a mature, adult relationship—“

“Boom,” Emma said, smacking her hand against Neal’s. Regina raised an eyebrow at her, before turning her eyes back to Hook.

“Just because you can’t understand the concept of a mature, adult relationship, that doesn't mean it’s a hundred percent bitching. It means, we understand that there’s more to a relationship than —“

“Oh, my _God,_ ” Hook exhaled loudly, throwing his head back. “If I wanted a lecture on this, I’d’ve asked Archie.”

“Maybe you _should_ talk to Archie,” Regina shot back. “Or maybe we should let Whale give you an MRI, see whatever it is in your brain that makes you such an idiot. Because it’s got to be some kind of illness or something, this doesn't just _happen—_ nature’s not that cruel.”

Hook chose to ignore her; he glanced around the car, looking for something to change the subject, and nodded his head at the keychain dangling from the mirror. “What’s that, then?” 

“Keychain that Neal stole for me,” Emma beamed. “How cute is that?”

“Oh, very,” Hook said, sliding his eyes to the side to exchange a skeptical look with Regina. “Neal, you adorable bastard, you…committing a crime for your lady love.”

“Nothing says romance like robbery,” Regina muttered under her breath.

Neal raised his eyebrows. “Am I seriously getting shade for stealing a keychain from the woman who still threatens to rip out people’s hearts and the guy who still insists he’s a dirty pirate? Your words,” he added, pointing at Hook. “I heard you.”

Hook tutted, giving him an exasperated look. “That was a private conversation between me and Ruby—and you’re taking it _way_ out of context. See, what I _meant_ was—“

“No, no, no!” they all three said loudly, covering their ears. Hook flicked his eyes to the side, muttering derisively under his breath.

“You’re all just jealous of my relationship,” he decided, folding his arms. “Because Ruby and I are the most beautiful, romantic, adorable couple this town has ever—“

“ _Whoa,_ whoa, whoa,” Emma scoffed, holding up a hand. “Look, if anyone’s the most adorable couple in town, it’s me and Neal.”

Hook snorted. “Like hell, it is. It’s me and Ruby, Emma—deal with it.”

“You’re delusional! Do you see _this?_ ” Emma tugged Neal forward by his scarf, and pointed between them. “ _This_ is adorable.”

“Okay, that’s it!” Regina flared. “We’ll argue about this later, even though me and Robin are clearly the most adorable and romantic couple in town! _Stakeout,_ Emma—we’re on a mission here.”

“Ooh, stakeout!” Hook said excitedly as Emma turned the wheel. “Who are we staking out?”

“Violet and Henry,” Neal answered. “They’re hanging out tonight, at Violet’s house—where her parents are. So clearly, we all need to freak out because they’re going to run off and join the circus together, because that’s the kind of shit kids get into if you leave them alone for too long.”

“ _Henry?_ ” Hook made a face. “But he’s boring. Probably they worst thing he’s ever done is let someone copy his homework.”

“Or bring a man back from the dead,” Regina said icily. “He’s a wild card, you idiots, that’s why we need to watch him.”

“Whatever,” Hook muttered, sitting back. Regina winced as she felt his knees pressing into the back her seat, and impatiently dug her elbow back. 

“Get your knees out of my seat.”

Hook responded by pressing his knees in more.

“I said, get your knees _out of my seat!_ ” She elbowed them again, more fiercely. “Hook!”

“Make me.”

“Okay, stop, stop, stop!” Neal intervened as Regina whipped around with her hand raised threateningly. “Bro, come on—you’re an adult, sit up.”

“Tell her to chill out.”

“Yeah, no, I’m not going to do that. You’re being an asshole on purpose. Just sit up.”

Hook grudgingly obeyed, muttering under his breath. “This is the least fun stakeout ever.”

“Have we ever been on a _fun_ stakeout?” Emma frowned.

“Yeah, that time when we staked out Taco Bell,” Hook said. “Remember? It was me and you, ‘cause Neal got sick, and we were bored, so we went—“

“That wasn't a stakeout. That was hanging out.”

“Oh.”

“I hate Taco Bell,” Neal said, making a face. “What’s wrong with you two?”

“Can we get back to the actual stakeout?” Regina demanded. “I can’t concentrate— _shit._ ”

Somewhere amidst all the arguing, Henry had emerged from the house, and was now standing on the sidewalk, frowning at the bug.

“Oh, goddamn it,” Emma muttered as he slowly walked across the street, headed right for them. “Oh, goddamn it.”

She sank in her seat as Henry came to a stop at the driver’s window, and bent down to peer inside. He frowned, seeing the four of them together, and tapped his fingernail against the glass.  Emma sighed, and pressed the button to lower the window.

“Hey, Henry,” she said, attempting a smile. “How are you?”

“Are you guys…?” Henry’s eyes trailed around them. “Are you guys _spying_ on me?”

“No—!”

“Yes,” Regina said staunchly. “Get in the car, we’re going home.”

Henry raised his eyebrows. “Wait, am I in trouble?”

“Get in the car, Henry,” Regina repeated. “Hook, scoot over.”

“I have to sit next to _Hook?_ Jesus, Mom, what’d I do?” Henry narrowed his eyes suddenly. “Did Whale talk to you?”

“Get. In. The. _Car._ ”

Henry got in the car.

 


	58. Chapter 58

Neal nudged the doorbell with his elbow, keeping his hands in his pockets to protect them from the icy, December air. He stamped his boots against the numbness in his feet while he waited for Regina to—

“Thank God,” he shuddered as she swung the door open. “Holy shit, it’s cold out there.”

“Well, that’s winter for you,” Regina said dryly, standing back so he could walk in. “Shoes, Neal.”

“Sorry,” he said hastily, kicking the snow off. 

“Henry’s in the kitchen,” Regina said, shutting the door and beckoning for him to follow her. “And remember, this is the first time he’s been out all week, so he’s extremely angsty.”

“Yay…” Neal muttered under his breath. Moody teenagers were one of the true joys in Life. 

Henry was indeed looking very moody, sitting at the kitchen table with his head resting in one hand, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Oddly enough, Emma was sitting across from him…delivering a Mom-lecture, how _delightful._

“…don’t even think about sneaking out, because I will know. I sleep with both eyes open, and I’ve got, like, ninja reflexes, so I’m not fucking around here, kid—“

“Hey, Dad,” Henry said loudly, lifting his head. Emma looked around.

“Neal.” She smiled nervously. “ _He-e-ey_ …”

“Hey, Em.” Neal stopped in front of her, raising his eyebrows. “So, uh—did I just hear you threatening the kid with ninja moves?”

“What, this? Uh…No. No, we were just—“ she swallowed, shifting her eyes around—“we’re talking about…o-other things.”

He nodded slowly.

“But, uh—“ Emma cleared her throat, standing up from her chair—“we’re done now, so… you guys can get going.”

“Great. You ready, Henry?”

“Yeah,” Henry muttered, pulling on his coat. “Let’s go.”

“Here—“ Neal tossed him the keys—“go wait in the car, I want to talk to your moms a sec.”

Henry nodded, twirling the keys around his fingers as he left the room. Regina said something to him as he went out the door, which he nodded in response to; she shut the door, and walked over with folded arms to join Emma and Neal.

“He’s not allowed to use his phone,” Regina informed him. “I’ve let him take it with him, so I can track it in case he runs off, but he’s not allowed to text or take calls. _Especially from Violet._ And if you catch him trying to get away with it, I want you to take his phone away.”

Emma bumped Neal with her elbow. “You got that, Cassidy?” she said sternly. “You take that phone away. Don’t try to be the cool dad—“

“But I _am_ the cool dad.”

Emma braced her hands on his shoulders. “Listen to the words coming out of my mouth,” she said dangerously. “I _know_ you’re the cool dad. I’m telling you not to be. Henry knows he’s not supposed to text Violet, and he knows what should happen if he does. And if you don’t enforce that… _I’m_ going to be mad at _you._ ”

Neal raised an eyebrow. “You’re really going to be mad at me? After I stole you that keychain and everything?”

Emma fought a smile. “Yes,” she said unconvincingly. “I’m going to be mad at you.”

“Mmmm—“ Neal squinted at her, cocking his head—“I don’t think so.”

“Well, _fortunately,”_ Regina said loudly before Emma could respond, “I don’t find you nearly as cute as Emma does, so rest assured, Neal— _I_ will be mad at you.”

Neal’s smile dropped. “Duly noted,” he said, bobbing his head. “I’ll watch him.”

“See that you do.”

* * *

 

Whale combed his fork through his Lean Cuisine lasagna, feeling the steam coming off the sad mess of cheap sauce and fake cheese before him. _I am so cool,_ he thought dryly. _Spending Friday night with lasagna. Yup—_ he glumly took a bite— _this is living._

 _“_ Okay,” Graham said, his feet drumming down the stairs. “I should probably get going soon. Jefferson said to meet him at eight.”

“Awesome.” Whale didn’t not look up from his plate as he stabbed his fork into the rubbery pasta. _Pathetic—pathetic—pathetic._

“Where’s my…?” Graham’s voice faded as he wandered into the laundry room. Whale let out a sigh, rummaging in the couch cushions for the remote: if he was lucky, maybe there was something _non_ _-_ Christmas-related on. 

“…hope tonight goes well, I really need a social life,” Graham was saying as he walked back into the room. “I want to get back into the swing of things, be a part of this town again.”

“I’m sure everything will go fine and— _whoa! C_ onfidence!” Whale quickly averted his eyes as Graham came into sight, still pulling his shirt on. The words _rock-hard abs_ came to mind…and repeated themselves…relentlessly. 

“Something wrong?” Graham asked, apparently very at home in leaving his shirt open. Whale kept his gaze determinedly fixed on his lasagna, trying to ignore the mantra in his head. “Victor?”

“Fine,” he mumbled. _Please button your shirt, please button your shirt—wait, why do I even care? I don’t care (rock-hard abs)—DAMN IT!_

 _“_ You sure? You seem ill.”

“Of course I’m ill. I’m eating fucking Lean Cuisine,” he lied. “You know how many chemicals they put in these?”

Graham let out an amused, “Hmph,” and sat down on the couch next to him; Whale was suddenly extremely aware of how short the couch was and how close Graham was sitting and the fact that out of the corner of his eye—no matter how much he focused on that damn Lean Cuisine—he could see _rock-hard abs._

 _Button your shirt, button your shirt, button your shirt,_ he begged silently, closing his eyes. This was a weird situation, just a really weird, _weird_ situation, with a lot of weird thoughts threatening the edges of his mind that must remain incomplete, or he’d be dealing with some _very_ awkward tension between him and Graham. 

“So, what are your plans for this evening?” Graham asked, nudging him. “You just going to sit there with your lasagna?”

“That’s the plan.” Whale cleared his throat, shifting his eyes to the ceiling. “Probably should get going, Graham.”

“Yeah, I should,” Graham said, glancing at his watch. “All righty—“ he stood up, _finally_ doing up his buttons—“see you later, Vic.”

“Yeah, bye,” he croaked. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, even as he heard Graham’s footsteps walk away and the kitchen door open and shut; only when he heard the car drive away did he look away from the ceiling.

Whale dropped his fork, rubbing his forehead. _Yeah, okay, I think I might be gay._ Because now that he thought of it…well, since the curse broke, he hadn't really been out with anyone in a remotely romantic way. Back in the cursed days, he’d had a little fling with Mary Margaret, kinda had his eye on Ruby, maybe give a few of the prettier nurses a second look—but what if only his cursed self was straight? What if the reason why he hadn't had a love life since then was because…maybe his cursed self was straight, but his non cursed self? Mmm, not so much. 

So….yeah. Probably…yeah, probably gay.

Maybe.

Well, probably.

Not for definite.

A good chance. 

But not set in stone.

Extremely likely.

Unconfirmed, but…it was possible.

Possible.

Huh.

Well, that was interesting.

 

* * *

 

Belle closed one eye, pinching the popcorn between her fingers as she aimed. “You ready?”

Hook nodded, holding his mouth open.

“All right, here we go.“ She tossed it; Hook leaned far left, trying to catch it, toppling off the couch in the process—but reemerged, beaming as he crunched the popcorn in his teeth.

“Told you,” he said triumphantly, righting himself back on the couch. “I’m good at this.”

“You are,” Belle said in surprise, high-fiving him. “I’m impressed.”

“Okay, kids,” Tink said as she walked carefully into the family room, balancing a tray of drinks in her hands. “Here we go.”

Belle and Hook shifted on the couch to make room for Tink, smiling eagerly at the tall, pink drinks she’d whipped up. Rumple had gone to bed ages ago, declaring himself exhausted of Christmas shopping and people keeping secrets from him (Belle didn't even bother pointing out that Christmas was an entire season of secret-keeping).

“Oh, my God, Christmas is in a week,” Hook said, shaking his head as he put the straw to his lips. “You guys all done with your shopping?”

“Just about,” Belle smiled in satisfaction. “I just have two left: Regina and Neal.”

Tink purred, raising a roguish eyebrow. “ _Neal…_ ”

“Tink,” Hook warned as Belle choked on her drink. “We talked about this.”

“Like you have any room to talk,” Tink said derisively. “Mr.-Must-Be-Seventeen-Or-Older-When-He’s-In-The-Same-Room-With-Ruby.”

Hook sputtered. “Excuse me, but there is a _huge_ difference between being an affectionate couple and being a drunk fairy shamelessly lusting after my best friend.“

“I thought I was your best friend,” Belle frowned. 

“You can have more than one best friend,” he assured her. “It’s allowed. I’ve got at least four. Sometimes five, depending on Robin’s mood. Hang on—” his eyes lit up as he snapped his fingers  and pointed at Tink—“ _Robin.”_

Tink frowned. “What about Robin?”

“I should get Robin to set you up with someone,” Hook said enthusiastically. “He’s got a friend—Will Something-Or-Other—“

“What, Will Scarlet?” Tink scoffed. “Been there, _done_ that.”

“Didn’t you go to my vow renewal with him?” Belle asked, twirling her straw in her drink. 

“Yeah, but I didn't _leave_ with him,” she snorted. “Shows you how much fun he was.”

“There’s more to a relationship than just sex,” Hook said seriously. 

Belle and Tink slowly turned their heads, giving him an incredulous look.

He shrugged. “So says Regina.”

“ _Ah…”_ they said in dawning comprehension: they knew Hook couldn't have come up with that on his own. 

“Anyways, Tink, I can put in a good word for you, if you want,” Hook offered, raising his eyebrows as he took another sip. “What do you think?”

“I think if you want to set me up with someone, set me up with Gorgeous McSexy. Or Professor Sexy. _Hey—_ “ Tink turned to Hook with a gasp, hitting his shoulder—“bro, set me up with _Graham._ ”

“Graham?” Belle snorted, tossing her head. “Good luck.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Tink demanded. “Let me tell you something, I am one hot little _mamacita,_ so don’t even—“

“He’s _gay,_ ” Belle said loudly. 

Hook’s eyebrows shot up. _“What?_ ”

“He’s gay,” Belle shrugged. “It’s so obvious.”

“But—“ Hook exchanged a wide-eyed look with Tink, then turned back to Belle—“but he and Emma—-a-and then he and Ruby—“

“Have you _seen_ him and Whale together?” Belle said. “They practically have eye sex across the room.”

“Oh, they do _not,_ ” Tink said scathingly. “Besides, when do you hang out with Whale and Graham?”

“They’re in the diner all the time,” she frowned. “You two are just too drunk and hormonal to notice.”

“To be fair, when I’m in the diner, I’m usually busy with other things,” Hook said. “At least, I _was._ S’pose that’s over, now that Ruby’s gone and quit her job.”

“Wait, she quit?” Tink whirled around, staring at him. “You didn't tell me that!”

“I assumed Belle did. I mean, she tells you everything else, doesn't she?” he said acidly.

“Oh, my God, are you still on that?”

“Why would you tell _Tink_ something like that? You know she’s going to blab it all over town!”

“Hey!” Belle said fiercely. “You’re the one who was supposed to keep it a secret! And you did some blabbing yourself! You told Ruby, didn't you?”

“That wasn't blabbing, that was self-preservation!” Hook snapped. “She’s a bloody werewolf!”

“Hey, how does that work, by the way?” Tink asked, tugging on his sleeve. “You guys don’t still…?  Like when she’s a wolf?”

“Like a literal wolf? Like…fur?”

“Yeah.”

Hook frowned at her. “That’s a little too kinky, even for me.”

“And dangerous, I’d imagine,” Belle said thoughtfully. “With the teeth and the claws…and wolves are kind of aggressive, aren't they?”

“Well, teeth and claws are very dangerous,” Hook agreed, suddenly finding his shoes fascinating. “As for aggression, it should be…handled carefully.”

Belle’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh, my God,” she said, smiling disbelievingly. “You are _such_ a whore.”

“Boom—“ Tink fist-bumped him, grinning. “We’re whores.”

“ _Yeah_ , we are!”

“Guys,” Belle said exasperatedly. “That’s not something to congratulate yourselves on.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tink snorted, reaching for the pitcher to refill her glass. “Come on, guys, drink up— I don't want to be the only drunk bitch here.”

“I’ll be a drunk bitch with you,” Hook said immediately, holding out his glass.

“Attaboy! Belle, gimme your glass—“

“Oh, but I’m going to be so hungover tomorrow already, Tink. I don’t want to—“

“Boo!” Hook called out, taking his glass back from Tink. “Belle’s being responsible!”

“Yeah, cut it out with responsibility bullshit,” Tink complained. “You’re killing my buzz, man.”

Belle looked between the two of them:  Hook with the puppy-eyes, silently pleading, _Please, please, please?;_ Tink with the stern look, poising the pitcher over her glass. She sighed heavily. “ _Fine,”_ she droned as Hook and Tink elbowed each other, smiling triumphantly. “I’ll be a drunk bitch with you guys.”

 

* * *

 

“So…” Neal drummed his hands on the steering wheel. “You and Violet, huh?”

“Oh, my God—“ Henry covered his eyes with his hands, groaning. “Are we seriously going to talk about this?”

“Just thought I’d offer,” he shrugged. “Give you some advice on how to handle girls, or something.”

“Right, ‘cause you’re the…” Henry muttered something under his breath.

“Sorry, what was that?” Neal frowned, craning his neck. “I’m the what?”

“Nothing.”

“No, no, no, tell me what you said.”

Henry exhaled reluctantly. “I said, ‘cause you’re the relationship expert.”

 _Relationship expert?_ Neal raised his eyebrows, looking at Henry in surprise.“I’m the relationship expert?” he repeated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“…Okay.” 

He glanced over again: Henry was looking out the window with half-lidded eyes, his arms folded across his chest. Having spent the better part of two centuries as a teenaged kid, Neal was only too aware of what was probably going through Henry’s mind: something moody and disgruntled with the lack of justice in this world, no doubt. Unless it was the ever-popular derision of how parents overreacted and tried to control him. Or the classic combination of, _I’m-too-cool-for-this-shit_ and _I’m-too-scared-to-say-something-that-will-REALLY-get-me-in-trouble._

Neal tapped his fingers listlessly as he waited for the red light to change. “Henry,” he said carefully. “I know you think you’re being unfairly treated, but your moms are just trying to do what they think is best, okay?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Henry said, with the air of someone who’s heard the same thing a million times over. 

“They don’t want to see you grow up, so they’re being clingy right now…You gotta give them time to get used to it.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

 _Damn it, damn it, damn it._ Neal exhaled slowly. This is what he'd been dreading: Henry passing him off, seeing him as nothing more than yet _another_ authority figure intent on ruining his young life. He was _so_ tempted to just say, “Okay, Henry, I won’t tell your moms, go out with your girlfriend”, but that just wasn't an option. He wasn't going to let a fifteen-year-old kid intimidate him into disobeying Regina. Neal was many things: a bit of rule-breaker, a bit of a people-pleaser, and yes, immature enough to almost encourage parental rebellion—but stupid wasn't one of them.

“Look, I’m not going to spy on your phone to make sure you’re not texting Violet, but…“ he glanced at Henry, giving a little shrug. “Could you not?”

Henry flicked his eyes upward, scoffing. “Whatever.”

“No, it’s not _whatever,_ Henry. I’m trusting you here, so you better show me I’m not making a mistake. _”_ Neal looked over, frowning when Henry didn't respond. “Hey.”

Henry exhaled heavily. “What?” 

“Don’t go texting Violet, okay? I don’t want to take your phone away.”

“This is stupid,” Henry muttered, looking out the window. 

“Yeah, well….I told your mom I’d enforce their rules, so don’t think you can get away with anything just because it’s me.” Neal tightened his grip on the steering wheel, feeling extremely uncomfortable taking the “strict parent” role.  Regina was a million times better at this: doing what needed to be done, when it came to disciplining Henry. Maybe because she’d dealt with him on her own for ten years; maybe because she was a queen and it all came second nature to her; or maybe, she was just good at it. When he’d first met Henry, that had been Neal’s greatest fear: that by nature, he just wouldn't be good at the whole parent-thing. And even after nearly three years of proving himself to be a halfway decent father, he still worried that saying or doing the wrong thing was going to make Henry hate him. 

_But he wasn't going to be intimidated by a fifteen-year-old kid, damn it._

“So are you going to be this delightful all evening or is this just for me?”

Henry spared him a disparaging look before turning his eyes back to the window.

“Look, Henry, I’m not saying I have a problem with Violet, but I’m not the only parent involved here, so there’s not a whole lot I can do.”

“Can’t you talk to them?” Henry asked. “Tell them they’re being stupid? Tell them I’m not going to do anything?”

“Kid…” Neal sighed, shaking his head. “Nobody thought you were going to bring a guy back from the dead, either. You’re just—you’re a little unpredictable, okay? I mean, ten years old and you run off to Boston to find Emma. Twelve years old, and you’re helping Peter Pan take over the world. Fifteen years old, and you’re raising the dead. That kind of wild streak—i-it’s a little worrying, you know?”

Henry scoffed, throwing his head back. _“Stupid…_ ”

“Well, that’s very mature, Henry, thank you,” Neal said sarcastically. “You’re doing a wonderful job of convincing me to talk to the other two about the Violet-situation.”

“There’s not even a situation!” Henry said frustratedly. “We’re barely more than friends! I mean, my God, could you people overreact a little more? Could you please?”

“Oh, you want me to overreact? Fine. Fine, I can overreact.” Neal cleared his throat. “I think it’s time to give you a lecture on exactly _everything_ that can go wrong when you’re interested in a girl. For example—and this is just spit-balling here—“ he shrugged, waving his hand—“but I’ve heard of situations where the guy and the girl live in a car together and rip off convenience stores and it’s all well and good until he gets her pregnant and everybody _dies._ Yep,” he said, nodding as Henry shot him a disbelieving look. “How’s that for overreaction, hmm? But hang on, I got more…”

 

* * *

 

They were thoroughly drunk now. Hook and Tink were laughing hysterically, slopping their drinks over themselves, clinging to each other to keep from toppling off the couch; Belle kept snorting into her drink, spraying strawberry daiquiri everywhere. 

“Okay, okay,” she choked, gasping for air. “Weirdest place you ever did it. Go.”

“Um—“ Hook wiped a tear from his eye, still shaking with laughter. “Weirdest place for me was probably…the clocktower.”

“Oh, come on!” Tink said. “Three hundred years, and that’s the best you got? The clocktower?”

“I was inside a bloody clock!” Hook laughed. “That’s weird!”

“You got something better, Tink?” Belle asked, nudging her with her toe.

“Pantry of the nuns’ kitchen with the stockroom guy,” she said promptly.

“Please!” Hook scoffed. “Mine is _way_ better!”

“There were a lot of potatoes around,” Tink shrugged. “It made for a very strange atmosphere. And he had a bowtie and tiny mustache, so it was already weird. Plus, nuns. They were, like, right outside.”

“I still say, mine is better,” Hook declared. “There were gears and all this metal rubbish laying around; and then it’s on that little balcony-thing, and you can see all the numbers and ticks on the clock face—“

“Hey!”

All three of them turned around, looking toward the stairs at the sound of Rumple’s voice. He was wearing his ratty old bathrobe and his hair was disheveled, but he looked extremely awake—not to mention, judge-y—as he frowned down at them.

“What’s the matter with you, Grumplestiltskin?” Hook slurred, pointing a finger at him. 

“What’s the matter with me?” Rumple slowly thumped down the steps, glaring at them. “I’m trying to sleep. I’m trying to get my full twelve hours here, but you three are being too loud and disruptive. And your stories are so disturbing, I’m too afraid to even keep my eyes shut.”

“Hey, where’s that sexy son of yours?” Tink said, grabbing his arm as he passed the couch. “I just like to look at his face, where’s his face?”

“With Henry,” Rumple said, jerking his arm away. “And don’t talk about him like that in front of me.”

“Then tell him to stop being so goddamn sexy!” Tink called after him as he strode off for the kitchen. “Hey, Belle, how about a refill?”

“Ooh, me, too! Me, too!” Hook chimed, holding out his glass.

“None left,” Belle said, nodding toward the empty pitcher. “We’ll have to make another batch.”

“I’ll do it,” Tink said, getting up from the couch. “I mix drinks better than either of you bitches.”

“Don’t bother Rumple about Neal,” Belle warned her. “Just let him eat his cereal in peace.”

“I will, I will…” Tink waved her hand dismissively over her shoulder as she walked off toward the kitchen, pitcher in hand. Hook waited until she disappeared through the door, and turned to Belle with a conspiratorial smile, shaking his head.

“Rumple is going to be so damaged…”

“He’s already damaged,” Belle said, chasing the last drops of her drink with her straw. “Doubt there’s much more she could do to him, besides make him extremely uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, but she’s drunk, and now she’s got her head filled with all these crazy sex ideas,” Hook grinned. “Her mouth is going to be going off, and he is going to be _so miserable._ ”

“And that pleases you,” Belle said, raising her eyebrows. 

“It does,” he beamed. “It really does.”

He looked down at his glass, smiling sadly at the emptiness with a soft, “Hmph”, and turned back to Belle. “So, listen—I’m seriously thinking about getting Robin to set up Tink and Will. You think she’d go for that?”

“You heard what she said,” Belle said, stretching out her legs over Tink’s vacant seat. “She’s _done_ that.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Hook said, shaking his head. “I mean, like a proper boyfriend. I think they’d be good together.”

“Boyfriend?” she snorted. “ _Tink?_ ”

“Well, it might get her to stop bothering Neal, poor bastard.”

Belle raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’ve got a girlfriend, and you still bother Regina.”

“Yeah, but that’s different,” he said impatiently. “It’s customary for me to hit on her, and then her to threaten me—it’s how we communicate.”

“I don’t know…Tink’s not really the boyfriend-type.”

“How do you know? She’s never had one, has she?” Hook nudged her shoulder with his shoe. “I’m gonna do it, okay?”

“Do what you want,” she shrugged, trying to nudge him back (but alas! her legs were too short!). Hook snorted at her pathetic attempt.

“You’re so tiny.”

“Yeah, but I’m adorable.”

“You are adorable,” he sighed. “I’ll give you that.”

There was a crash in the kitchen, and the door suddenly burst open. Belle and Hook twisted around in alarm as Rumple zoomed past them, racing up the stairs; they turned to each other with wide eyes.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know.” Hook sat up, raising his eyebrows as Tink walked into the room, pitcher in hand. “Hey, you—what’d you say?”

Tink shrugged, kicking aside their legs so she could sit down. “I just described a certain fantasy of mine. Maybe went a little overboard on the details, but I don’t think that warrants dropping a perfectly good bowl of cereal on the floor and running out of the room. Hey, that reminds me—“ she jutted her chin at Belle—“there’s a mess in your kitchen.”

Belle closed her eyes exasperatedly. “Goddamn it, Tink,” she said, getting up. “What did I tell you about describing your fantasies in front of people?”

“Not to do it?” Tink lifted her glass, considering it blearily. “Should I have some more?”

“Probably not,” Hook grinned, pouring himself another glass. “But who cares? Drink up, you little pervert!”

“You big slut!” Tink laughed, clinking her glass against his. 

 

* * *

 

Whale stirred at the sound of the door creaking open. He had fallen asleep on the couch, a half-eaten Lean Cuisine at his side; the T.V. still going. Graham was moving around in the kitchen: the fridge opened, a bottle clinked, a chair scraped against the floor. 

 _Here we go,_ Whale thought rubbing crumbs out of his eyes. He pushed himself up from the couch and sleepily stumbled into the kitchen, where Graham was sitting at the table with a bottle of scotch and a glass.

“Hey,” Whale yawned. “How’d it go?”

“Uh….” Graham looked at his half-finished drink, tapping his fingers against the glass. “It was, uh…it was interesting.”

“Oh, yeah?” Whale leaned against the doorframe with folded arms. “What happened?”

“Nothing much,” Graham said, avoiding his gaze. “We grabbed some dinner, caught a movie, you know…stuff.“

“How…was dinner?”

“Meh. It was from Granny’s, so it was—okay, no, it was pretty gross.”

“Ugh. How was the movie?” 

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Whatever Christmas they have in theaters now. It was stupid.”

Whale nodded slowly. “Anything else?” he said. “You seem a little preoccupied.”

“Uh…” Graham shifted his eyes around awkwardly. “Something happened.”

“Okay?”

“And I think—“ Graham furrowed his brow—“I think Jefferson might be gay.”

Whale raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

“He tried to kiss me.”

“Oh. Well, that’ll do it.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” Graham groaned, putting his head in his hands. “I didn't realize it was supposed to be a date, I thought it was just…” He exhaled, and shook his head. “I must have looked like a complete _idiot.”_

Whale cleared his throat nervously. “So, what happened?” he asked, hoping he didn't sound too interested. “How, uh…how’d you get out of there?”

Graham sighed helplessly, rubbing his eyes. “We were sitting outside with our coffee, on this little bench-thing. Just talking, shooting the breeze, cracking a few jokes. Next thing I know, he’s leaning in, and I was just thinking: ‘Whoa! Wait a second, what’s going on?’ And so I’m just like, ‘Oh, wow, Jeff, I’m sorry, I didn't realize—‘ and then blah, blah, blah, whatever I said, it was just a bunch of babbling. And he was really nice about it, he was just like, ‘Oh, it’s okay’ and ‘Oh, relax, Graham, it’s not a big deal’, but I still felt so stupid about it because—I mean, here I am with this guy, and I’m completely oblivious to him being attracted to me, and I’m just…” He groaned, covering his eyes again, and continued in a muffled voice. “I always do this—the oblivious thing. I did it to Ruby, and now I’ve done it to Jefferson, and those are only the ones I know of. Ugh! I’m such an asshole.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, you didn't know,” Whale said, resisting the urge to pat his arm comfortingly (everything just seemed too sexually charged now— _why_ did Graham have to walk around shirtless today? Why? Seriously, why?). “You’re, like, the nicest person ever. No one’s blaming you for not knowing.”

“They should,” Graham said miserably, lifting his head. “Vic…I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’ve made things really awkward now.”

 _Rock-hard abs,_ his mind said suddenly. _Rock-hard abs! Rock-hard abs!_ “Yeah,” Whale sighed. “You’ve definitely made things awkward now.”

 


	59. Chapter 59

In Storybrooke, the week before Christmas was remarkably similar to _The Hunger Games:_ people were frantically rummaging through stores, scavenging for food and last-minute presents, struggling against their rivals for dominance and victory; an ugly, bloodthirsty, murderous side they didn't know they had came out, tearing friends and family apart; people were like vicious, wild animals, doing whatever was necessary to survive. It was a spectacle that was so horrifying, it was fascinating; a source of entertainment for the nonparticipating onlookers, a fight to the death for everyone else. 

The holiday stress acted like salt in an already irritated, infected wound: adding fuel to fires that already burned high; turning what had been disagreements into wars. Parent turned on child; friend on friend; man on wife’s-friend-who-said-apalling-things-about-his-son. 

Ah, Christmas…

* * *

 

Belle looked over her shoulder to make sure Rumple was out of the kitchen before she dumped out the still-full coffee pot. There were only a few days left before Christmas, no way was she going to survive the chaos on _Rumple’s_ coffee. 

“Thank you,” Tink drawled, kicking her feet up on Belle’s vacant chair. “Do me a favor—tell him not to make coffee anymore; it offends me as a coffee drinker.”

“Maybe if you stopped making offensive comments about his son, he wouldn't keep making  offensive coffee,” Belle returned, scooping out more coffee. “Oh, that reminds me—Rumple’s got Neal coming over pretty soon, so keep your mouth shut, okay? No one needs to hear about your latest fantasy.”

“Why’s Gorgeous McSexy coming over here?” Tink said with a wry smile.

Belle closed her eyes. “Tink…”

“Okay, _fine._ Why’s Mr. Cassidy coming over?”

“Rumple needs help organizing his finances or something, he’s got all these different accounts to keep track of—“

“YAWN,” Tink said obnoxiously. “Is that coffee done yet?”

“Give me a minute.” Belle snapped the lid over the top, and set the percolator to brew. She heard the front door open, and Rumple’s voice call out delightedly, “Bae! Merry Christmas!”

“‘Bae’?” Neal repeated, his voice getting louder as their footsteps walked to the kitchen. “You haven't called me _that_ in a while.”

“It’s Christmas,” Rumple said, pushing open the door. “I always get a little more nostalgic around Christmastime…remembering the old days…”

Belle turned around worriedly, hearing the dangerous quiver to Rumple’s voice. Neal exchanged a look with her over his head. _Say something,_ Belle mouthed.

Neal hesitantly put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Okay,” he said, clearly uncomfortable. “Let’s not get all…sentimental here.”

Tink whirled around in her seat without warning. “Well, hello, Mr. McSexy,” she purred. “You’re looking _damn_ fine today.”

Neal raised his eyes to the ceiling. “God, I miss the days when you couldn't talk in front of me.”

“So do I,” Rumple said, looking green. “Goddamn it, now I’m nostalgic for those days, too.”

“I read a self-help book,” Tink shrugged. “Plus, I’ve learned that maintaining a slight drunkenness at all times really kicks up the self-confidence.”

“Get sober,” Neal said flatly. 

“Get _out,_ ” Rumple added. 

“So, Neal, let me ask you something—do you wake up with a plan in mind to look so irresistible, or does it just _happen?_ ”

“Tink—“ Belle said quickly.

“By the way, how do you feel about chocolate syrup? Personally, I think it’s extremely arousing.”

“I think it’s the stuff my kid uses to make chocolate milk,” Neal said dryly. “And now I’m going to go. Dad, I’m going to grab your files and get out of here, okay?”

“Run fast, Bae,” Rumple said, glaring at Tink. 

“Will do.” Neal nodded at Belle, patted Rumple’s shoulder again, and left the room, muttering something about how alcohol brought out the worst in people. 

“Hey, leave some room under that mistletoe for me!” Tink called after him as the door swung shut. “Sexy little—“

“AAAGH!” Rumple shouted, little sparks erupting from his fingers. 

“ _Rumple!”_ Belle gasped, her hands flying to her face. Tink’s eyebrows shot up, but she seemed otherwise unfazed.

“Well,” she said. “Someone’s relapsing.”

“How many times do I have to say it?” Rumple demanded furiously. “ _Don’t talk about him like that!”_

“It’s not my fault he’s S.A.H.”

“Sah?” Belle frowned.

“‘Sexy as hell’.”

“Oh.”

“No wonder his name is ‘Bael _fire’_ , because he is so hot—“

“STOP!” Rumple shouted. 

“No can do, little man,” Tink shrugged. “Maybe I just need to get Neal out of my system.. Well, more like _into—“_

“Tink, _DON’T!”_ Belle said instantly, seeing the sparks around Rumple’s fingers again. “Rumple, please—try to control yourself, you’ve been doing so well—“

“GET HER OUT!”

“Okay,” Belle said; she hooked her arm around Tink’s elbow, ignoring her protests, and started to pull her out the door. “Let’s go.”

“Come on,” Tink grumbled. “I didn't even get my coffee.”

“Get it at Granny’s,” Belle muttered back. “Seriously, you have to leave now. I think you’ve got Rumple at the point where he prefers _Hook’s_ company to yours.”

“That’s a little harsh, don't you think?” Tink snapped as Belle pulled her across the family room. 

“Hook never makes him lose control over magic,” Belle said, casting a worried glance over her shoulder. “Honestly, Tink, I don’t know if you should keep coming over here if you’re going to upset him like this.”

“But what about Margarita Monday?” Tink whined,  even as Belle swung open the front door and pushed her out. “Dude—“

She slammed the door in Tink’s face, and braced her hands flat against it as Tink immediately tried to twist the handle. “Go away, Tink!” she called through the door. “Have a merry Christmas, and get the fuck off my porch!”

“Hey!” Tink hammered indignantly on the door. “Let me in, I didn't get my coffee!”

“No!” Belle shouted back, her heels digging determinedly into the floor as Tink tried to shove her shoulder against the door. “Go away!”

“Coffee!”

“No!”

“Coffee!”

“No!”

“ _Coffee!_ ”

“Rumple, bring me a cup of coffee!”

“Why?”

“ _Now!_ ”

Rumple clattered around in the kitchen for a minute, then burst into the room, balancing a cup of coffee in his hands. “Here. Why do you—?”

Belle snatched it out of his hands, opened the door a crack, and shoved it at Tink. “Here’s your coffee, now go away!”

“All right, thanks,” Tink said as the door closed. “Merry Christmas, assholes.”

 

* * *

 

Neal pushed open the door, lifting the strap of his shoulder bag over his head. With a sigh, he tossed it on the couch (which Rumple had insisted on buying for him and Emma, since Neal had agreed to help him organize his finances); and then dropped exhaustedly next to it.

Between the panic of last-minute shopping, the frustration of tracking down Rumple’s old receipts and financial records, and most recently, Tink’s newfound confidence, it hadn't been an easy week. It had been mentally and physically exhausting. There was too much to do, too much to think about…all he wanted to do was take two minutes to sleep, forget his troubles, pretend he didn't have anything to worry about—

He frowned, feeling something sharp dig into his back. “What the…?” Neal twisted around, patting his hand between the sofa cushions to find the culprit: handcuffs.

But they weren't like Emma’s standard-issued station handcuffs: actually, they were kind of skanky-looking. Neal lifted them higher, squinting incredulously at the black leather, the red fur lining—

A girl’s laughter rang out from upstairs: _Ruby._ Neal’s eyes widened furiously; he dropped the cuffs, abruptly standing up. 

“ _HOOK!”_

There was the sound of stifled laughter, a little scuffling around with several whispered, _“Shh!” ’_ s through choked laughter. Neal clenched his teeth, glaring mutinously up the stairs. If he honestly thought he was going to get away with this…

“ _HOOK!”_ he shouted again. 

A pause. Then: “…Wha- _at?”_ Hook’s voice called out innocently. 

“Get. Down. _Here,”_ Neal growled, struggling to breathe through his rage. 

“…Why?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“If you’re not down here in five seconds, I’m evicting you.”

“Coming!” Hook said hurriedly.

Neal glowered as he waited, hearing a few more scuffling sounds and frantic footsteps (alternating between shoe and bare foot); a couple more whispers, and then an extremely audible, “ _Just pretend you’re not here!”_

“I’m waiting!” Neal called up the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m _coming!_ ” 

Hook half-skated, half-tripped down the steps, landing unevenly on one booted and one bare foot in front of Neal. “Hey, mate,” he said, trying to discreetly smooth his incriminatingly disheveled appearance.  “How are you? Merry Christmas, by the way, I love you.”

Neal took a steadying breath, forcing himself to unfold his fists. “Hook—“

“You look absolutely adorable today, in case no one’s told you yet. That sweater really brings out your eyes.”

“Hook—“

“So, I’m fine, actually. I’ve got a lot of Christmas stuff to take care of yet, so I’ve been hiding out here, trying to get some stuff done—“

“No, I know what stuff you’ve been getting done!” Neal snapped. Hook shifted his eyes around guiltily, scratching the side of his face.

“I, uh— _ahem—_ I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your shirt’s on backwards, dumbass.”

“Shit—“ Hook looked down at himself, cursing under his breath. “Shit, shit, _shit…_ ”

“And you’re missing a shoe.”

“I am? Oh. I am.” Hook blew out a frustrated breath, and trailed his eyes back to up to Neal. “Well, this is awkward.”

“And what the hell is this?” Neal  said, kicking the cuffs toward him. “ _What is this?_ ”

“Those would be handcuffs—“

“I KNOW THEY’RE HANDCUFFS!” he shouted over him. “Why are they _in_ here?”

“Um—“ Hook coughed into his fist. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t _know?_ ”

“No, I don’t.”

“Really.”

“Really, really.”

Neal narrowed his eyes witheringly. “Tell Ruby to come down here.”

“Ruby?” Hook frowned. “ _Ruby_? Ruby who?”

“ _Lucas,_ you idiot, Ruby Lucas! You know—tall, skinny, turns into a wolf?”

“Oh, _that_ Ruby.”

“Yes, _that_ Ruby.”

“Well, she, uh—“ Hook tugged nervously at his collar. “She’s actually not here right now, can I take a message?”

“RUBY!” Neal yelled, not taking his eyes off Hook. 

“…Yeah?”

Neal smiled sarcastically as Hook gritted his teeth and swore under his breath. “Could you come down here?”

“…Yeah.”

Neal folded his arms, staring straight at Hook, who was doing his very best to avoid Neal’s gaze. Ruby thumped down the steps, tottering in her obnoxiously bright red heels. She guiltily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she went to stand next to Hook, looking equally disheveled. 

“Hi, Neal,” she said quietly. “Hook’s right—you look adorbs today.”

“I told you, guys,” Neal said, ignoring her. “I don’t want you… _doing stuff_ in my apartment. That means—“ he started to count off on his fingers—“no wall-slamming, no _Dr. Jones,_ no…whatever the handcuffs are used for, I’m too afraid to try to imagine what you guys came up with—“

Hook snorted; Ruby looked as though she were trying not to smile, elbowing Hook and muttering, “ _Shh.”_   Neal’s eyes widened.

“ _Wow,_ ” he said, looking between the two of them disgustedly. “Judging you.”

“Oh, come on, Neal—

“ _Judging you!”_ he repeated loudly. “You don’t even _know,_ man. You don’t even _know.”_

 _“_ Neal, we’re all adults here,” Hook said calmly. “Let’s not pretend that certain things don’t go on—“

“Okay, let’s just get one thing straight here,” Neal said over him. “I don’t care what you do with your girlfriend, I just don’t want you to do it _here._ This is my home. My _sanctuary._ This is a sacred place, do you understand? I don’t need—“ he grimaced, glancing at the offensive cuffs—“ _evidence_ of whatever weird shit you two get into.”

Hook frowned. “I pay half the rent; it’s my apartment, too.”

“But you don’t!” Neal said exasperatedly. “You haven't even been here a week! What rent did you pay? As it stands right now, _I_ put down the first month’s lease, and out of the goodness of my heart, I’m letting you stay here! All I ask— _all I ask—_ is that you follow the rules! There’s not a lot! It isn't complicated! It’s very simple!”

“Neal—“

“If you’re so desperate to be with Ruby, why are you even here? Why don’t you just stay with _her_?”

“Neal!” Hook said loudly. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Without waiting for a response, he seized Neal’s arm and pulled him off to the side, ignoring Neal’s indignant sputters.

“Get off—“ He tried to tug his arm away, but Hook held on, hissing frantically in his ear.

“I understand you’re upset, but you can’t _say_ shit like that, okay? We’re at a very delicate point of the relationship, you can’t start introducing questions about moving in—“

“You left _furry handcuffs_ in my apartment! Who knows what else is hiding in here!” Neal whispered back furiously. “Do you understand, I have a fifteen-year-old kid who comes over here? I don’t want him finding any of that shit! His mothers would _kill_ me! Actually kill me!”

“Okay, I’ll clean it up—“

“ _Clean it up?_ ” Neal gasped, staring at him in horror. “You mean, there’s _more?_ ”

“I—“

“ _Oh, my God!”_

“Neal, would you _shut up?_ ” Hook hissed through clenched teeth. “You’re killing the mood!”

“ _Killing the mood?_ The mood is _killed!_ Murdered! Finished! Beheaded, and sitting on a bloodied shelf in a cardboard box!”

Hook made a face. “That’s a bit graphic, don’t you think?”

Neal seized him threateningly by the collar to growl in his face. “You get all your kinky shit out of this apartment now. And then I want you to call professional carpet cleaners and a team of cleaning ladies to come here and scrub this whole place down. And then I want a priest to perform a fucking exorcism. Meanwhile, I’m going to go down to Archie’s office, and ask how high the risk of me snapping and murdering you in a fit of rage is.”

He shoved him back and stalked to the couch to gather up his shoulder bag. “Time for you to go, Ruby,” he said, not looking up as he fixed the strap. “You don’t need to say goodbye to Hook, I’m not going to kill him just yet. Go.”

“Okay,” Ruby said meekly. Hook started to follow her.

“I’ll walk you out—“

“No, you won’t,” Neal said, holding him back by the collar of his jacket. “There’s the phone, there’s the phonebook. Get to work.”

Hook glowered at him. “You’re _ruining_ my life!” he shouted, and turned on his heel. Neal closed his eyes exasperatedly for a moment. Honestly, Hook was worse than Henry. Three hundred some years old, and he couldn't summon the maturity of a _fifteen-year-old._

“Ruby’s right, you _are_ a child,” he muttered, slinging his shoulder bag around his neck. “A loud, messy, morally repugnant child—“

“Morally repugnant?”

“It means, ‘bad’.”

“I know what it means!” Hook snapped. “I’m just questioning your use of the term!”

Neal turned around, narrowing his eyes. “Do you see this?” he said, pointing to his face. “This is me judging you.”

“I’m familiar with that look, thank you,” Hook said darkly.

“This is me wondering what kind of head injury you suffered to make you think that you’re not morally repugnant. This is me wondering how someone so delusional and impossibly moronic managed to beat natural selection and survive for three hundred years. This is me asking the universe to strike you down, because I can’t _stomach_ the amount of Stupid infecting my apartment right now.”

“Then _leave!_ ” Hook shot back. “‘Cause you’re the stupidest one here!”

Neal raised his eyebrows, smiling dryly. “ _Good one,_ ” he said, putting his hands together in mock applause. “Make sure you put a star next to that one in your repertoire: _You’re the stupidest one here._ Oh, very good.”

“Shut up, Neal.”

“That’s another one to write down. _Shut up, Neal._ You inspire me.”

“I hate you!”

“You’re a child.”

“ _You’re_ a child!”

“No, no, no, _embrace_ it. See, because you’re such a child, I can’t punch you in the face like I so desperately want to, because that would be _child abuse._ So, it’s actually saving your ass right now.”

Hook scoffed. “Like you could even beat me. I’m a _pirate,_ mate. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s fight.”

“You want to give it a shot?”

Hook lifted his chin. “You think I won’t?” he said challengingly. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

“I think you’re afraid of your own bunny slippers.”

“I don’t own bunny slippers.”

“I know.”

“They’re weird.”

“Yeah.”

“Little heads…on your feet. That’s fucked up.”

“Seriously, though.”

Hook stepped deliberately toward him,  slitting his eyes in what he probably thought was a very intimidating manner. “So you want to fight me, eh?” he said, stopping in front of Neal. “That’s what this has come to: a good, old-fashioned fight to the death.”

“That’s…exaggerating.”

“Fight to the tears.”

“Fairly confident I don’t have functioning tear ducts.”

“I have yet to see you cry. I barely see you _feel._ ”

“I don’t like P.D.E.’s.”

“How’s that?”

“Public Display of Emotion.”

Hook smiled ruefully. “How very _Neal_ of you. P.D.E.’s. You’re a robot.”

“Not exactly.”

“I’m going to punch you now, robot.”

“I’d like to see that.”

To Neal’s surprise, Hook actually pulled his fist back and aimed it toward Neal; without thinking, he shot his own fist out, catching Hook in the jaw.

 _“SHIT!”_ Hook shouted, clamping his hand over his jaw. He looked at Neal in a mixture of pain and disbelief. “I can’t believe you actually punched me!”

“It was instinct!” Neal said wildly. “And you were going to punch me first!”

“You _told_ me to!”

“No, I didn’t! I didn't think you were actually going to do it!”

“God _damn_ it!” Hook rubbed his jaw, shaking his head in self-pity. “I can’t believe you did that!”

“It was _instinct!_ ” Neal repeated. “I grew up on the streets! Homeless guys try to mug you every day, you just learn to hit first!”

“I’m not a homeless guy!” Hook snapped. 

“Well…that’s only ‘cause I’m letting you live here.”

“That’s no reason to punch me!”

“You were going to punch me first!”

“So what?”

“So, what did you expect me to do?”

“I expected you to be the better man, and let me!”

Neal stared at him incredulously. “You honestly thought I was just going to _let_ you punch me?”

“I don’t need you to _let_ me punch you,” Hook said heatedly. “I’m only saying, you should have the decency to let me.”

“What are you even _saying?_ ”

“I don’t know! You punched me! Probably damaged some part of my brain!”

“I hit you in the jaw, it wasn't anywhere near your brain! Maybe you’re just a dumbass!”

“Maybe _you’re_ a dumbass!”

“Okay, that’s it. I’m leaving. I can’t take your idiocy anymore.” Neal dropped his hands and walked to the door, still shaking his head. “Fucking moron.”

“I _heard_ that!”

“You were meant to hear that!” he snapped back. “ _Moron!”_

He slammed the door behind him, cutting off Hook’s retort. He shoved his hands in his pockets, still glowering at the floor as the memory of the whole shitty day replayed itself in his head. Everything was so crazy and out of control, even more than usual. His temper had been flaring more and more dangerously—if he had magic, he was certain it would be exploding out of him. Maybe once the holidays were over and all the excitement died down, things would be better.

“Trouble in paradise?”

Neal stopped, looking up to see David smugly leaning against his door, his arms folded across his chest. “I’m sorry?”

“Trouble in paradise?” David repeated. “Seems that apartment’s brought you nothing but trouble. Maybe you should give it up, go back to Granny’s.”

Neal forced himself to not roll his eyes. “Look, David—if you’re still upset about me and Emma—“

“I am.”

“— _then get over it._ ” Neal repositioned the strap around his neck, giving David a sour look. “Could be worse, you know. She could be dating _Hook._ ”

David snorted. “Like _that_ was going to happen.”

“Well, the way he tells it…”

“What?” David frowned, straightening up. “What does he say?”

“What? Nothing.”

“Does that slutty pirate talk about my daughter?” David growled, taking a threatening step toward him.

“No.”

“Do _you_ talk about my daughter?”

Neal blinked. “I talk _to_ your daughter.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means, we have conversations?”

“Mmm-hmm, and what else does it mean?”

“Jesus Christ, David, what do you want from me?” Neal asked wildly. 

David held up two fingers close to his face; he pointed at his eyes, then Neal’s. _“Watching you,_ ” he hissed, stepping backward through his door. “ _Always watching…”_

Neal stared back at him until the door shut, then slowly turned his gaze forward and continued down the hall.

It was a good thing Regina was going to provide alcohol at her party. Because there was no way he’d survive Christmas Eve with his fucked-up family without it.

 


	60. Chapter 60

 

Emma knocked on the door, then swung it open without waiting for permission. “Evening, boys!” she called out cheerily as she strode in. “Who wants to see how sexy I look?” She pointed to Hook, who was sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine. “Bro, come on—I look pretty damn sexy, don’t I?”

“Mmm-hmm, very nice,” he said absently, not looking up from _Vogue._

 _“_ You didn't even _look._ ”

He laid down his magazine with a sigh. “All right,” he said wearily. “Twirl for me.”

Emma turned in a circle, letting her red skirt swirl out in a fan. “Nice, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“ _Fine?_ ” she scoffed. “Bitch, please—I’m a _goddess._ ”

“Fine. You’re a goddess. Now, if you’ll excuse me—“ Hook snapped out his magazine, holding it closer to his face—“Jennifer Lopez has a four-page article in here that I need to read.”

Emma snorted. “You can’t _read._ ”

“Why does everyone assume that?” he frowned. 

“Just the vibe you give off. Anyway—“ she clapped her hands together, casting her gaze around the room—“where’s Neal?”

“Upstairs…” Hook murmured, engrossed in Jennifer Lopez. Emma swirled past him to the stairs, climbing on the tips of her shoes to protect the fragile heels. Sure enough, the bathroom light bled into the narrow hallway, and she caught half of Neal’s reflection in the mirror as he wrapped a tie around his neck.

“Hey, Emma,” he called, apparently catching sight of her in the background. 

“Hey,” she said cheerfully as she invited herself in. She drummed her hands on his shoulders, smiling back at him in the mirror. “Ooh, I love it when you wear suits.”

“I know,” he said, lifting his chin as he knotted the tie. 

“Okay, but seriously—you look hot.”

Neal smiled faintly. “I know.”

“And…” Emma sighed and gestured modestly to herself. “So do I.”

“That’s a fair assessment.”

“In fact—“ she turned him around to fix his tie—“I believe we’re what you’d call a _power couple.”_ She unraveled the knot and started retying it. “Do you know what that means?”

“It kinda makes us sound like superheroes.”

“You’re not too far off. It means, as a couple, we are the snappiest, sexiest, most badass motherfuckers in town. Basically demigods. And everyone looks on jealously.” Emma smiled up  at him. “So, yeah—superheroes.”

“Cool.”

Emma stepped back, putting her hands on her hips as she looked him up and down. “ _Damn,_ Cassidy,” she said, shaking her head. “You are _wearing_ that suit.”

“Hang on, let me get the jacket—“

“Buh-buh-buh— _stay.”_ Emma put a firm hand on his shoulder, guiding him away from the door. She tilted her head and gave him a long, considering look. “Do you think, you could do that thing where your tie’s all loose around your neck, and your shirt’s hanging out with the sleeves all rolled up, like a sexy cubicle worker?”

“Like a sexy _cubicle worker?_ ” Neal raised an eyebrow. “You have strange fantasies.”

“And then your hair’s all ruffled up, like you’re frustrated and you keep running your hands through it? Actually, here—“ Emma reached up, scrubbing her hands through his curly head. “And then, the tie—“

“Okay—wait—Em—“ 

“—sleeves up like _that—_

 _“_ We have to go in, like, ten minutes—“

“—lose a button there—meh, what the hell, that one, too—“

“—you’re undoing all my work—“

“—and _there._ ” Emma beamed, looking at her handiwork: a disheveled, unamused Neal with his hair thoroughly ruffled, his shirt loose, and his tie undone. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: _Damn,_ Cassidy.”

“Thank you,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Although, you could have waited until _after_ the party.”

“I think you should just go like this,” Emma shrugged. 

“Looking like a guy who just got fired and spent his night at the bar?”

“Which is super hot.”

“Well, who doesn't love financial woes and alcoholism? By the way, Emma—“ he leaned forward, whispering in a mock-sultry voice—“ _the bank says they’re going to repossess my house._ ”

Emma laughed just as there was a knock against the door and Hook poked his head in.

“Hey, Neal, I need a— _whoa._ ” He raised his eyebrows at Neal’s rumpled appearance, and looked between the two of them. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Not exactly,” Emma said, the smile fading off her face. “What do _you_ want?”

Hook frowned at her tone. “No need to be rude.”

“What do you want?” Neal asked before Emma could reply that there was _plenty_ of need to be rude. “And if it’s, ‘Do you know where my Revlon pencil is?’, the answer is _no._ ”

“No, it’s Ruby, actually,” Hook said, pulling his phone out of his pocket to show them the text. “She wants to know if we can give her a ride because if she moves her car, she’s going to lose that space, and she’s got to park _all_ the way at the other end of the street—“

“Yeah, fine, we’ll give her a ride,” Neal said, turning back to the mirror to fix his shirt. 

“Brilliant.” Hook’s smiled turned colder as he slid his eyes to Emma. “Hope that’s all right with _Milady.”_

Emma narrowed her eyes witheringly at him. “Don’t you have a Beyonce magazine to squeal over?”

“ _Jennifer Lopez,_ ” Hook said, looking scandalized that she would make such an error. He shook his head, still _tsk_ ing as he left the room. Emma rolled her eyes and exchanged a look with Neal in the mirror. 

“Does he hear himself when he talks?” she said. “ _Idiot…_ I can feel my brain cells committing suicide when he walks in the room, just so they don’t have to process his idiocy.”

“That’s not even the worst part,” Neal said darkly. “Did you know he gets night terrors?”

Emma frowned. “Night terrors, what’s that?”

 _“_ Wakes up in the middle of the night and starts screaming. And then he falls right back asleep, it’s unbelievable.” Neal grimaced, shaking his head. “I started taking sleeping pills, so I’d sleep through the whole night, but he still wakes me up.”

“Can you two stop fawning over each other and hurry up?” Hook yelled from downstairs. “Ruby’s waiting!”

Neal closed his eyes, putting the tips of his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Emma,” he said quietly. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Oh, no. Please don’t,” she said in a flat voice. “Somebody help.” She pushed herself up, lazily swiping Neal’s hand to pull him after her. “Do you have a bottle of wine? I feel like it’s rude if we don’t bring something.”

“Kind of insensitive to bring a bottle of wine, when Regina can’t drink,” Neal pointed out as they went down the stairs. “She might think we’re gloating.”

“You’re right. Forget the wine.”

Hook glanced up from his magazine as he heard their footsteps behind him. “Ready to go?” he asked, getting up from the couch.

“Yeah, get your coat,” Neal said, crossing the room to grab his keys. Hook obediently tugged on a coat while Emma dawdled near the door, waiting for Neal.

“Move,” Hook said, nudging Emma out of the way so he could open the door. Emma frowned, and hit him in the shoulder on his way out.

“You’re a jerk.”

“I know,” he called back, extremely unconcerned. “Neal, hurry up!”

“I’m coming,” Neal said as he pulled on his coat. He hung a scarf around his neck, twirled the keys around his finger, and nodded at Emma. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Regina bent toward the mirror, carefully applying dark red lipstick to her lips. In the reflection, she could see Robin bustling around the bedroom, looking through the drawers.

“Regina, have you seen my black socks?” he asked, kneeling down to rummage through the lower drawers. 

“Top left,” she said, now stroking mascara along her lashes. 

“Top left…” Robin muttered as he leaned across to pull out the drawer. “I’m not seeing them in here.”

“They’re in there.”

“No, darling, they’re not.” Robin shut the drawer with an exasperated sigh. “I _knew_ I shouldn't have unpacked all the boxes at once, everything’s all mixed up.”

Regina capped her mascara and turned her head from side to side, checking to make sure the elegant curls had remained elegant. “They’re in there, Robin,” she said absently. 

“Are you sure? I can’t—oh.” 

“I told you.” She turned sideways, studying herself critically in the mirror. She was showing some, but not enough that it was extremely obvious. Regina frowned, putting her hands on her hips as she swiveled in front of the mirror: motherhood was great and everything, but one thing she was definitely not looking forward to were maternity clothes. Soon, she wouldn't be able to fit into those sensible pantsuits and she’d be wearing… _elastic._

Oh, _God._

“What’s wrong?” Robin asked, coming into the bathroom as he  knotted his tie. “You’ve got this look on your face, like you’re going to be sick. Wait—“ his eyes widened, suddenly panicked—“is it the baby?”

“Baby’s fine,” Regina sighed as she dropped her hands. “I’m just dreading the rest of this pregnancy-thing. It’s a bitch, growing another person, you know that? A real bitch.”

“I imagine,” Robin said, looking deeply uncomfortable. “I…I feel I should apologize.”

“Save it for later,” she grimaced. “I’ve heard bad things about the delivery process. Very bad things.” Emma’s and Mary Margaret’s horrifying descriptions of the pain, blood, and screams echoed in her head, and she shuddered. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“All right,” Robin said, sounding rather relieved. “Let’s see…Oh! I know!” He turned with a wide smile and gleaming eyes—a look that clearly indicated some kind of gossip or other. “I’m going set Mulan up with Merida.”

 _Who?_ Regina gave her head a little shake. “Uh—backstory, please?”

“You know, _Merida._ The one with the—“ Robin waved his hand around his head—“you know, the big, curly hair?”

Regina frowned. “Mmm…nope. Nope, don’t know her.”

“Oh, come on,” Robin said, looking frustrated. “ _Merida._ She joined the Merry Men after Mulan ditched us a few years ago?”

“Uh…”

“Thick accent? Says things like ‘lassie’ and stuff?”

“No…”

“Looks kinda like one of those Troll dolls, but pretty?”

“I don’t…no, I don’t know her.”

“You’ve _met_ her,” Robin said exasperatedly. “Remember, the day you helped me pack up all my things, when you came to the camp? She had the tent in the corner, she was eating a roasted rat off a stick?”

“Oh, my _God,_ really?” Regina gagged. “Wait—she know how to use forks and shit, right? She’s not going to be…I don’t know, like, spearing sandwiches or anything, is she?”

“Yes, she knows how to use forks,” Robin droned, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, Regina…”

“Sorry, the mental image I got made me wonder.”

“Yes, well…” Robin seemed to lose his enthusiasm as he turned back to the mirror. “Anyway, I thought I’d set her up with Mulan, since all that drama with Aurora went down.”

Regina raised an eyebrow. “You mean, the whole soap-opera-Phillip’s-baby-lesbian-tryst thing?”?

Robin paused in his hair-gelling sequence. “Haven’t you heard the new development?” he asked, crinkling his brow. “Aurora’s decided to stay with Phillip. She told Mulan it was over because she didn't want to raise the baby without a father.”

“Oh…” Regina nodded slowly, struggling to care. Honestly, she couldn't give a flying fuck about Mulan and Aurora. Love triangles were…no, she couldn't care enough to even complete the thought. 

“…thought they would be good together ,” Robin was saying when she returned to the moment. He turned his head in the mirror, touching a little more gel to his hair. “So I’m going to introduce them, see if I can’t get her mind off Aurora—at least during the holidays. I don’t want her to be alone.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Regina said, not really listening. 

“Poor thing.”

“It’s a shame.”

“It really is, though.”

“Huh.” Regina clapped a hand on his shoulder and offered him a brief smile. “Well, good luck with…whatever you were talking about. I’m going to go find Henry.”

“Why?” Robin frowned, half-turning as she started out of the room. “What’s he done now?”

“Nothing. I just want to make sure he knows the rules.”

“What rules?” he persisted, following her through the door. “If this is about Violet…“

Regina clenched her teeth, but didn't answer. She walked purposefully down the hall, her heels stabbing into the floor. Downstairs, she could hear Mary Margaret and David clattering around in the kitchen, stirring pots and moving dishes around, but there were only two sets of footsteps. “Henry!” she called. “Henry, where are you?”

“Watching T.V.!”  he yelled back over the noise of the  movie. “And I didn't do anything, so don’t yell at me.”

“Come on,” Regina said, grabbing Robin’s wrist to pull him after her. “I need back-up.”

“For what?”

“He’s going to sass me, I can _feel_ it,” she hissed. “I need someone close by to scold him and tell him to respect his mother.”

“Wait, what are we yelling at him about? What _did_ he do?”

“Nothing—yet. These are preventative measures.”

Henry was lounging on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table. Some horrible Christmas movie was playing, with a conventionally attractive woman giggling in the snow as a conventionally attractive man beamed at her. Regina spared it a disparaging glance before she picked up the remote and muted it.

“I didn't do anything,” Henry said instantly when she turned to him. “Don’t yell.”

“Don’t give me a reason to yell, and I won’t,” she countered. “I want to talk to you about Violet.”

“Oh, _Christ_ ,” Robin and Henry groaned at the same time. 

“Now, now, now,” she said defensively, holding up her hands. “I’ve given it some thought, and Emma and I talked it over…”

Henry chanced a glance up at her, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah…?”

Regina inhaled deeply, looking down at him. She hadn't _actually_ spoken to Emma about anything; nor had she really given it any thought. What she’d been planning to say was, “Stay away from that teenage whore because you don’t know where she’s been, and you’ve got the genes for Teen Daddy Syndrome, and I don’t think I can deal with that.”

But Henry was looking at her with… _that_ look: the wary one, the one that waited for her to preemptively blame him for something he didn't do; the one he wore as he nodded obediently, though he was secretly thinking, _I hate you._ It had been the look he’d given her for most of his childhood. She _hated_ that look.

“I’ve decided, I’m not going to interfere with you two, but keep it G-rated at the party.”

Henry blinked. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re fifteen. You’re going to rebel against me, sooner or later, and I’d rather it be over something like, not cleaning your room or eating junk food. And you’re a good kid, more or less, so…” Regina grimaced, folding her hands. “I’’m going to trust you.”

“You are?”

“Don’t make me regret it,” she warned him. 

Henry stared at her in disbelief, then nodded slowly. “Okay.”

They looked at each other for a long time without saying anything, as though they were waiting for the other to pull a “GOTCHA!” But neither of them did; neither of them said a single goddamn word, because it was all levels of awkward. Robin cleared his throat a few times, prepared to say something—then lapsed back into silence. David and Mary Margaret still clattered in the kitchen, passing indistinguishable instructions back and forth. After several painful minutes, the doorbell rang.

“Oh, thank God,” Regina exhaled, turning away to answer the door. She’d never felt so relieved to invite random strangers into her home.

She swung open the door, revealing a grinning Tink leaning against the doorframe. “Hey, bitches!” she called. “Merry fucking Christmas!”

Regina smiled blandly. “Merry fucking Christmas, Tink. Kick the snow off your shoes, then come in and add to the awkward. Make everyone more uncomfortable than they’ve ever felt in their life.”

Tink smiled widely. “Don’t mind if I do.”

 

* * *

 

“All right,” Hook said as Neal stalled the car on the street across from the library. “I’ll run in and get Ruby. You two wait here…try to behave yourselves.”

“Get out of my car,” Neal said loudly. 

Hook snickered and climbed out. A rush of icy air flooded the car before he slammed the door shut behind him. They watched him hurry over to the library door and fiddle with the lock, before he swung the door open and darted inside. On the second floor, they could see the apartment window filled with light and a tall, thin shadow moving across the room.

“Ten bucks says, they don’t come down for at least ten minutes,” Emma said as another shadow entered.

“Because they’re doing it, or because they’re comparing their eye make-up?” Neal said, pulling back his sleeve to check his watch. “Shit…We’re late. ”

“Meh,” Emma shrugged. “Regina will just blame it on Hook, so we don’t have to worry.”

“That’s true.” Neal looked up from his watch with a bored sigh and started drumming his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. Emma watched him for a minute, tilting her head to the side. 

 _Damn,_ she thought, looking him up and down. “I know I already said this, but you are wearing the _hell_ out of that suit.” She rested her chin in her hand, smiling and shaking her head. “Mmm-mmm- _mmm.”_

Neal raised his eyebrows. “Thanks,” he said, an uncertain smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “You look good, too.”

“I know, but…” Emma flopped her hand at him, giving a helpless sigh. “You know?”

Neal nodded slowly. “You said that.”

“Do you think…” She scratched her face, trying to sound as casual as possible. “Do you think you could do that sexy-cubicle-worker thing again?”

“I’m sorry?”

“With the —“ she  waved vaguely at her beck—“with the loose tie? And the hair all…” She blew out a slow breath. “You know, all… _ruffly_.”

“Uh…” Neal blinked, as if he wasn't quite sure what to make of her. “You mean… _now?”_

Emma frowned. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“Well, I don’t want to walk into the party looking all sexed up with your _dad_ in there,” Neal said exasperatedly. “He did _this_ to me—“ he pointed two threatening fingers at his eyes, then at hers. “And then he was like, _‘Watching you…’ ._ It was a little scary.”

“He _threatened_ you?”

“Not in so many words, but yeah, pretty much.”

“Unbelievable,” she scoffed. “I’m going to kill him.”

“That’s an overreaction.”

“Is it?”

“Little bit.” Neal  glanced at the window at the sound of distant laughter, and squinted at the two shadowy figures in dim streetlight. “Sluts incoming,” he muttered.

Emma made a face as Hook and Ruby walked toward the car, swinging their hands together and laughing against each other. “ _God,”_ she said, gagging exaggeratedly. “If they were any cuter, little woodland creatures would be following them around.”

“That’s significantly less cute,” Neal said, nodding his head as they stopped (in the middle of the road, thanks) and started making out like it was the End of Days and they’d never see each other again. “Good God…”

“Roll down the window.”

“How’s that?”

“I said, roll down the window.”

Neal obeyed, pressing the button on his car door to open the driver’s window; Emma unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned across him to yell out. “Hey, if you two could extract your tongues from each other’s throats long enough to get in the car, that would be great!”

“Oh, shut _up,_ Emma!” Hook shouted back. “I have to watch you fangirl over Neal every time you walk in the bloody room!”

“That’s because it’s supposed to be _my_ bloody room!” Emma hollered. “Maybe you should just find your own place , you homeless bastard!”

Neal winced as Emma’s voice blared in his ear. “Guys…” he sighed. “Can we do this later?”

“You can’t _still_ be mad about that!” Hook snapped. “Get over it!”

“Says the man who was on a revenge quest that lasted _two fucking centuries!”_

 _“_ Guys—“

“That’s not a grudge, that’s dedication!”

“That’s not an argument, that’s bullshit!”

 “Guys!” Neal said loudly. “Just shut up, and get in the goddamn car! And you—“ he put his hands on Emma’s shoulders, pushing her back into her seat—“ _sit.”_

Emma raised a roguish eyebrow. “You’re very _authoritative,”_ she said huskily. “I like that.”

Neal frowned. “What?”

“Seriously, you have to do the sexy cubicle worker thing again. Actually, hang on, I got it—“

“Emma!” Neal pushed her hands away as she reached for his shirt. “The hell are you doing?”

“Hair, ruffle the hair—“

“Don’t—“

“Buttons, let me just—“

“Jesus Christ, would you _stop_ that?” Neal said, catching her hands. Emma raised her eyebrows innocently.

“Stop what?”

“You _know_ what.”

She shrugged, twirling a strand of her hair. Neal watched her for a second, then narrowed his eyes.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he told her. 

“Really? ‘Cause it seems like it’s going right over your head.” Emma smiled, biting down on her bottom lip—a move that she knew drove guys _crazy,_ though she wasn't entirely sure why. 

Neal stared at her in wonder. “Okay, _what_ is going on with you today?” he asked.

“I just think you look mighty fine in that suit,” she said simply, dancing her fingers up his arm. “Why are you being so uptight?”

“Because I’m cold; I’m cramped; I don’t want to go to this party; and Hook and Ruby are staring at us through your window right now.”

Emma crinkled her brow. “What?”

“Look, they’re right—“

“ _Aagh!”_ she yelped, seeing Hook’s and Ruby’s faces pressed against the glass.

“I told you.”

“God _damn it,_ ” she said, breathing hard; she put a hand to her heart, closing her eyes as she tried to catch her breath. She heard the lock _click_ as the door opened, and then Hook’s tsking.

“Jesus, Emma, ‘no’ means ‘no’,” he said, settling into the seat behind Neal. “You practically violated him.”

Emma turned around incredulously. “Bitch, are you serious right now?”

“Bitch, I’m dead serious.”

“Don’t call each other ‘bitch’,” Neal said wearily as he started the car. “You guys are so immature.”

“You’re right, we are.” Hook cleared his throat. “Remind me what your high score on Zombiepocalypse is again?”

Neal’s jaw tensed. “Higher than yours,” he muttered.

“Oh, yeah?” Hook leaned forward, growling into his ear. “That sounds like a challenge, old friend.”

“I will destroy you,” Neal said steadily. 

Hook let out a quiet, meaning laugh. “I’d like to see you try,” he hissed; then abruptly, sat back in his seat. “We duel at midnight.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of them. “That got intense, fast.”

“It was my fault,” Hook said solemnly. “Zombiepocalypse is a sacred pastime. I should never have tried to use to win some mundane argument.”

“Wait,” Ruby said as Emma shrugged in agreement. “Is…is that a joke? Or are you serious?”

Hook exchanged a wide-eyed look with Neal in the mirror. “Ruby, I have never been more serious about anything in my _life,”_ he said, scandalized. 

“Over a video game.”

“It’s not just a game,” Emma said, twisting in her seat. “You don’t understand, Ruby. This thing has been in our lives since it was released two years ago. It’s a big fucking deal.”

Ruby blinked at her. “Wait, are _you_ serious?”

“You don’t want to get into this, Ruby,” Neal advised, glancing at her in the mirror. “Once you get into Zombiepocalypse, there’s no escaping.”

“If our lives ever end up like _The Walking Dead,_ it’ll be so worth it,” Emma said reverently. “We’ll annihilate every zombie-bitch in our path. And if anyone tries to steal our camp or starts firing on us, we already have a battle plan in place.”

“Level Seventy-Two,” Hook said, fist-bumping her.

“What’s Level Seventy-Two?”

“It’s a multiplayer level, where you have to defend your camp from assholes,” Neal explained. “We worked out a strategy to beat the level, and then they decided that ‘Press X! Press X!’ was a viable strategy for a real-life zombie attack.”

“‘Least I _have_ a plan,” Hook scoffed. “What’s yours, fall asleep until it’s over?”

“Actually, yeah.”

“How very _Neal_ of you.”

“What about me?” Ruby said, tugging at Hook’s sleeve. “If the zombie wars or whatever start up, would you protect me?”

“No,” Hook said simply. “You’re a werewolf. You have to protect me.” He nudged her. “You will, won’t you?”

Emma rolled her eyes as Ruby let out a giggle. “Of course I will!” she simpered, cozying up to him. 

“You sure you’re up for it? I tend to get myself into dangerous situations.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot,” Emma said before Ruby could answer. Hook let out a tense breath.

“I wasn't talking to you, Emma.”

“Yeah, but I can still hear you.”

“Yeah, but I wasn't talking you.”

“ _Yeah,_ but I can still hear you.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t talk—“

“For the love of God, would you shut up?” Neal exclaimed. “I’m serious, the next person who talks can walk the rest of the way!”

No one really wanted to test Neal, because it was really fucking cold. The rest of the drive was silent. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	61. Chapter 61

 

 

 

The party seemed to be in full swing by the time Belle and Rumple pulled up. Cars were strewn all the way down the street, light flooded from the window and exposed several moving shadows, and Christmas music poured from the house. 

“Looks busy,” Rumple remarked. “Crowded.”

“Well, having half the town crammed into one house will have that effect,” Belle grimaced. “Come on.”

They walked up to the house hand-in-hand, going a little slower to accommodate Belle’s heels on the ice. Regina had stationed herself by the doors so she could greet guests with a deadpan, “Shoes,” before they came in. Rumple seemed a little disgruntled that she didn't even offer a “Hello” or “Merry Christmas”, but Belle pulled him away before he had time to complain. It was Christmas Eve—hardly the time for one of Rumple’s bitch-fests.

“All right,” she said, pulling off her coat and tossing it to Henry so he could stash it away in the guest room. “You want to get something to eat, Rumple? I heard David catered.”

“He did,” Henry said as he added Rumple’s coat to the pile in his arms. “He’s been here all day, bitching about his fresh ginger.”

“Don’t say ‘bitch’, Henry,” Rumple said absently. “Do I smell lasagna?”

“Yeah, it’s in the kitchen,” Henry said, nodding toward the door. “Mom made it.”

Rumple looked at him warily. “Which ‘Mom’?”

“Regina.”

“Okay, _good,_ ” Rumple said in relief. “I’m going to go get a piece, then. Belle, do you want any?”

“Yeah, get me a corner piece.”

Rumple nodded, and started pushing his way through the crowd, whacking a few people in the shins with his cane. Belle shifted her eyes aways, so as to avoid the indignant looks shot in her direction, and turned to Henry. 

“So,” she said, awkwardly swinging her hands together. “How’s it been going? I know we got here kinda late—sorry about that.”

“Please, I _envy_ you,” Henry said, rolling his eyes. “Regina’s been making me stand here and take coats. At least ’til Violet shows up…which she hasn't because—“ he sighed, holding up his phone—“her parents are still in the middle of their weekly threatening-to-divorce, explosive argument, so who knows when she’ll get here?”

“That sucks,” Belle said sympathetically. 

“Yeah, it does,” Henry agreed, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “All right, I gotta go put these away.”

“See you,” Belle said with a little wave as he started weaving through the crowd. She let out a little sigh, and raised herself on her tiptoes to see if Rumple was on his way back yet. It was impossible to tell, from this vantage point, though: all she could really see were shoulders and torsos. Belle huffed frustratedly, not for the first time resenting her mother for having been so petite: for God’s sale, _Leroy_ was taller than her.  

 _I’ll just go myself,_ she thought irritably, sending up a silent prayer that she wouldn't get trampled on her way to the kitchen. It was a risk she and Rumple ran during every party: they were easily Storybook’s tiniest couple, so people didn't always see them. More than once, some oaf had tripped over her and sent them both tumbling to the ground. 

The door had only already been propped halfway open, so all she had to do was slip inside the steam-filled kitchen, where a symphony of smells came together to create a beautiful Christmas atmosphere: turkey, stuffing, the homey scents of apple pie; there were fancier things, like quiche and the weird French pudding David had a fondness for making; and less-fancy things, like biscuits and cranberry sauce. And of course, lasagna. 

Rumple was sitting at the counter, moving his hands energetically as he spoke to David, who was busy whisking something. Snow was hovering behind David as she watched the stove, turning her head every so often to stay in the conversation. 

“…now he’s moving in with her?” Rumple was saying as Belle walked over. “It seems a little fast, doesn't it?”

“What does?” Belle asked, leaning her elbows on the counter. 

“Emma and Neal,” Snow scoffed. “Which is ridiculous because, for the last time, Rumple, _sixteen years_ is not fast.”

“It hasn't been sixteen years!” Rumple said exasperatedly. “They’ve only been going out for a month, that’s not nearly enough time!”

“ _Rumple_ ,” Belle groaned. “Aren’t you _tired_ of bitching about this?”

“No! I’m not, actually!” Rumple jutted his chin at David. “David understands, don’t you, David?”

“No, no,” Belle and Snow said at once, shaking their heads. David frowned.

“Excuse me,” he said defensively, “but I believe Rumple was talking to _me._ ”

“No, I refuse to allow you two to encourage each other,” Snow said firmly; then added for Belle’s benefit, “David’s going to get all ‘no one touches my baby girl’ and Rumple’s going to get all ‘leave my boy alone’, and—“

“And Snow’s going to get all, ‘ _Squee! I was right, I was right! I told her to pick Neal all along!’_ ” Rumple mimicked. 

“Well, I was,” Snow said smugly. “God, can you imagine if _Hook_ and—?”

“ _No,_ ” David said immediately. “Don’t even talk about it, Snow. I can’t.”

“Just imagine how Granny feels,” Rumple said grimly. “You two really dodged a bullet.”

Belle snorted, pulling the mint-filled candy dish toward her. “I wouldn’t say _dodged._ That implies it was a remote possibility.” She picked up a mint, examining it as the wrapper crinkled between her fingers. “Emma and Hook were never going to happen.”

“I remember, he made a lot of declarations of undying love for ‘never going to happen’,” David remarked. 

“Hook will say he loves you if you pass him the salt at dinner,” Belle scoffed. “He misinterprets emotions a lot. I think he was damaged in childhood. Or maybe, he’s just not very bright.”

“Or both,” Rumple shrugged. 

“Or both,” they all agreed, mirroring his shrug. 

“You know what we should do?” Rumple said, pointing a thoughtful finger. “Take him out to the woods, then get a shovel—“

“Hey, David, got anything to drink in here?”

Everyone’s heads whipped around as Hook walked in. He raised an eyebrow, looking around at their stares.

“What?”

“Nothing,” David said, shaking his head. “Sorry, what did you want?”

“Drinks,” Hook said, walking over to stand next to Belle at the counter. “Ruby’s worried she’s going to bump into her gran, she needs a little something to take the edge off.”

“And you?” Belle asked as David looked around for something alcoholic. “What’s your excuse?”

Hook shrugged. “No excuse. I just like the buzzy feeling.”

“You’re an alcoholic,” Rumple frowned at him. 

“No, I’m not. I mean, I am, but I’m not being an alcoholic right now.” Hook superfluously straightened his tie. “I’m being a social drinker.”

Rumple looked at him for a long time; then pointed at him, a wry smile slowly spreading on his face. “You’re funny,” he said.           

Hook raised his eyebrows and was opening his mouth to say something when the door burst open and everyone’s heads swiveled around for the second time. 

“Hey,” Ruby called out. 

There was a general murmuring of “Hey, Ruby” from the four of them, while Hook looked at her impatiently.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as she settled herself at the counter next to him. “I told you, I’d bring it over.”

“I know, but I felt too awkward waiting out there with Emma and Neal,” Ruby sighed. “She keeps fangirling over him because he looks crazy hot in his suit…” She trailed off as Hook  made a disgruntled noise, and narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“Nothing…”

“Don’t get scowly, just because I said Neal is crazy hot,” Ruby frowned. 

“I’m not.”

“Because seriously—“ Ruby leaned over the counter to look past Hook at Belle. “I don’t usually notice, because he’s normally all hoodied-up and drinking coffee, but Neal is, like, _insanely_ sexy in a suit. I almost forgive Tink.”

“Hmm,” Belle smiled uncomfortably. 

“Really, though. I bumped into a few of the girls from the diner, and they were all talking about it. He is _slaying_ in that suit.” 

“That’s…that’s nice.” Belle shifted her eyes to exchange a look with Rumple, but was surprised to see him nodding thoughtfully.

“I _told_ him,” he said, shaking a finger. “A classy suit and a good tailor can make all the difference.”

“ _I know, right?_ ” Ruby said in a hushed tone. “I mean…I’m almost jealous of Emma right now.”

Hook gave her an injured look. “Right in front of me? Really?”

“You hit on Regina in front of me all the time,” she frowned. “I always forgive you.”

“That’s because I always make it up to you…”

“Oh, _God,_ ” everyone else groaned, amidst mumblings of “not near the food, you slut”. David actually put his hand over his whisking bowl, as if to protect it from Hook and Ruby, neither of whom seemed to notice the group’s general disgust. Ruby smiled, despite herself, and stood on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear. Hook’s eyebrows shot up and and he let out a surprised laugh.

“Oh, _really?”_ he said. “Well, in that case…”

Belle made a face as Ruby took his hand and tugged him out the door, giggling. “I think I just threw up in my brain,” she said sourly, turning back to the group. 

“Seriously, though,” Rumple grimaced. “Nobody tell Regina, she’ll set off an explosion that’ll make Hiroshima look like a firecracker.”

“I wish I could surgically remove the piece of my brain that contains that memory—and destroy it,” David said.

“Sluts,” was Snow’s contribution. 

Belle pushed herself away from the counter and wandered over to Rumple, who was now watching David spoon homemade whipped cream onto cherry tarts. She wrapped  her arms around him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. 

“Your hair is very soft,” she murmured. 

“Yes, it is.”

“Like, puppy-soft.” Belle unwrapped one arm to comb her fingers through his hair. “Fluffy.”

“It’s my new conditioner. It moisturizes.”

“It smells good, too. What is it?”

“Shea and butter.”

“Hmm.” Belle straightened up, and pressed a kiss to the side of is head. “I’m gonna go say ‘hi’ to some people, okay?”

“What about lasagna?” Rumple asked, leaning his head back to look up at her. “I thought you wanted your corner piece.”

“I’ll take it with me,” she shrugged. “David, can I take a plate?”

David nodded his permission, and twisted around to get her a plate. “Don’t fill up on this, okay?” he said as he handed it to her. “I want you to save room for my stuff, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t fill up. Hand me a fork?” Belle smiled as he held one out to her, and plucked it from his fingers. “ _Thank you._ ”

As she walked out of the kitchen, she held the plate up to her nose, inhaling appreciatively. _Mmm,_ she thought, smiling in satisfaction as she forked a little piece of the rustic, spicy lasagna. Regina may have been a raging bitch, but _damn,_ could she cook. 

“Merry Christmas, bitch!” a joyful voice called out, and an arm clapped around her shoulder. 

“Hey, Tink,” Belle said, chewing past her lasagna. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much, nothing much. Hey, are you eating this?” Tink said suddenly, pointing to her plate.

“Actually—“

“ _Awesome_.” 

Belle sighed as Tink snatched the plate and fork from her hands and started eating her lasagna. “Can’t you just get your own?”

“I only want a little,” Tink shrugged. “I don’t want to eat too much. It interferes with getting drunk.”

“How drunk are you right now?” Belle asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Not drunk enough.” Tink passed the plate off to the nearest guy (Archie), exchanging it for his drink. He looked up in surprise, opening his mouth to protest—but when he caught sight of who it was, just gave a defeated little sigh and walked away. 

“You are _so_ obnoxious,” Belle said, shaking her head. “I’m embarrassed to be seen with you, sometimes.”

“I think you mean, it’s difficult to live in my shadow,” Tink said without a trace of irony. “And I honestly don’t blame you, because… _”_  

Belle looked over as Tink stopped in her tracks. “What?” What is it?” she frowned, noticing Tink’s suddenly wide eyes. 

“Neal,” she breathed.

Belle’s heart sank. _Oh, no._

“Neal…Suit…” Tink’s voice quivered and she started fanning herself. “Oh… _me gusta. Me gusta_ very much.”

“Well, don’t _gusta,”_ Belle said irritably. “I don’t need to hear this.”

Tink threw back her head and gulped down the rest of her drink; then, with a loud exhale, she passed the empty glass to Belle and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Belle looked at her worriedly, watching her adjust her dress.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you _think_ I’m doing?” Tink snapped the straps of her dress decisively, letting out a deep breath. “I’m gonna go talk to that sexy bastard.”

 _“Tink—_ “

But she’d already strode off in the unsuspecting Neal’s direction. Belle made an exasperated noise and shoved the glass into a pair of hands so she could clatter after Tink. Emma was nowhere in sight, which meant he was vulnerable. Undefended. _Prey._

The poor man. 

“Mmm—mmm— _mmm!_ ” Tink said as she stopped in front of Neal. “It’s amazing, how much seeing you in that suit makes me wanna rip it right off ya.”

“Oh, wow,” Neal said, raising his eyebrows. “That’s—that’s deeply disturbing, coming from you.” 

“Neal—“ Belle bent down, bracing her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “I am so…sorry…She ran…off…Couldn’t…stop her.”

“Yeah…” Neal eyed Tink with disgust. “All right, well, I’m gonna _go,_ so… Good luck with all—“ he waved his hand vaguely at her—“that.”

“What’s your rush, Gorgeous?” Tink grinned. “Can’t handle the undeniable heat between us?”

“Tink,” Belle warned.

“What? Look at this guy, he’s such a tease,” Tink said, looking him up and down with relish. “He’s all… _ruffly._ ”

“Ruffly?” Belle frowned at Neal, only just realizing…yeah, he was “ruffly”: his suit was out of sorts, his hair sticking up weird. “What happened, you get mugged?”

“What? Oh.” Neal rolled his eyes, brushing a hand over his hair to try to fix it. “Emma’s keeps messing me up because she thinks it looks sexy.”

“She’s right,” Tink said slyly. “I mean, you were always hot, but right now, you’re _sizzling._ ” 

Neal raised his eyebrows. “You’re creepy,” he told her. “So—I’m going to go stand over there.”

“You can walk away, but that’s not going to make me stop thinking about you!” Tink called after him as he shunted through the crowd. “That sexy motherfucker,” she said under her breath, shaking her head. “What is he _doing_ to me, coming in here, looking like that?”

“Can we talk about something else?” Belle asked through gritted teeth. 

“Yeah, sure…” Tink said, already walking away from her. Belle widened her eyes,

“Tink!” she said wildly. “What are you doing?”

Tink turned around, giving her an incredulous look. “You know, I don’t know why everyone thinks you’re so smart, if you can’t figure this out,” she said. “Let me break this down for you: ‘sexy Neal’ plus ‘sexy suit’  equals ‘What do you _think_ I’m doing’?”

With that, she flounced away, sweeping her arms to push people out of the way. Belle stared after her helplessly, mentally wrestling with the dilemma of going after her or giving up. There was no stopping Tink, either way. But Neal was technically her stepson—didn’t that mean she had a moral obligation to help him, to look out for him? But then again…Neal was a resourceful guy, he could take care of himself. And Belle _really_ didn't want to be witness to Tink’s sexual harassment anymore. Besides, she had other people to wish a Merry Christmas to, she couldn't spend all her time baby-sitting Tink. 

“Sorry, Neal,” she muttered, going off in search of Archie so she could take back her lasagna. “You’re on your own.”

 

* * *

 

 

Emma put her hands on her hips, narrowing her gaze around the room to look for Neal. She’d told him _not_ to move, but of course, he did. “I’m only going to be a minute,” she’d promised— which, apparently, he’d interpreted as “I’m going to be a while—roam free!”

 _Found you,_ she thought triumphantly as her eyes landed on him. He was standing in the corner by the Christmas tree, talking to Robin as he tried to smooth out his rumpled tie. Emma twitched a smile, rather enjoying the sight of a mildly embarrassed Neal. With a determined exhale, she fluffed out her hair and strutted toward him, a wry smile curling on her face. She didn't know if it was the suit, or the holiday giddiness, or what _,_ but _god-fucking-damn it, he looked fine tonight._

 _“_ Emma, hey,” a woman’s voice said, just as a hand touched her shoulder. Emma stopped mid-strut, and turned to see Lily, decked out in a slim black dress, smiling at her.

“Oh…h-hey, Lily,” Emma said, internally groaning. _Son of a bitch._ “How’s, uh…how’s life?”

“Life’s all right,” Lily shrugged. “How about you? You look great, by the way.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Emma said distractedly, trying to see past her to look at Neal. Still talking to Robin, good…still looking deliciously disheveled, very good…a small blonde head, bobbing toward him in the crowd, not so good. She frowned. What the hell did that slutty little fairy think she was doing?

“…want a drink?” Lily was saying. Emma blinked, giving her head a little shake to clear it.

“Sorry, what?” she said. “I got distracted.”

“I said, do you want to get a drink—”

“Not really, no. Excuse me.” Emma brushed past her, stalking toward Neal and Robin just as Tink was sidling up to them. They were both looking at her in faint disgust, and Robin had stepped almost protectively in front of Neal during the exchange. As she got closer, Emma could hear why.

“…literally have no morals, I’m game for pretty much _anything_ you’re into.”

“Really,” Neal grimaced.

“Really, really.”

“That’s disgusting,” Robin told her.

“I prefer to think of it as, ‘accommodating—-“

“Tink!” Emma said in a falsely cheery tone, making her jump. “How are you?”

Tink blinked rapidly, looking at her with wide eyes. “Uh—h-hey, Emma, how are you?” she said nervously. 

“Fine, fine…” Emma trailed her eyes up to Neal’s, which were full of gratitude. “I was just coming over here to talk to _this_ guy—s’cuse me, Tink—“

Tink glowered at her as she moved past her to stand by Neal and put a very deliberate hand on his shoulder. Robin looked quickly between the two of them, at Emma’s poisonous smile and Tink’s glare, and cleared his throat.

“Tink, I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my friend, Will. How about I introduce you?”

“Hook already offered, I’m not interested,” Tink said, not taking her eyes off Emma. 

“ _Get_ interested,” Emma said, narrowing her eyes. “Robin, why don’t you go find Will? I’m sure he and Tink will hit it off.”

“I’ve met Will, he’s nothing special,” Tink said dismissively. 

“Did you _talk_ to Will?”

“Talk?”

“Yeah, did you talk? Or did you just push him against the wall and violate him?”

“There was consent,” Tink muttered, shifting her eyes. 

“I feel so uncomfortable right now,” Neal told the ceiling. 

“As do I,” Robin said, looking rather green. “Come on, Tink—we’ll have a chat with Will.”

“But—sexy—“ Tink reached longingly toward Neal, who immediately shrank behind Emma, before Robin pulled her away. 

“He’s such a matchmaker today,” Neal said, stepping out once Tink had disappeared into the crowd. “First it was Mulan and Merida, now Tink and Will…God, he’s worse than your mom.”

“Why would he set Will up with _Tink_?” Emma frowned. “I thought they were friends.”

“I don’t know,” Neal sighed. “But I’m not going to fight him on this. So long as it keep Tink away from me, I’m good.”

“She’s been bothering you?”

“Of course she has,” Neal said, rolling his eyes. “Keeps coming up to me, telling me how sexy I am…It’s actually a really uncomfortable experience.”

“Well, I must say that’s a popular opinion today. That you look sexy, I mean,” she clarified. “I overheard quite a few conversations…Lot of girls appreciating the suit tonight.”

Neal looked surprised. “Really?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Emma smiled, nodding.

“That’s…interesting.” He furrowed his brow, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t really know how to respond to that.”

“You know, I’d be jealous, except I can’t really blame them.” Emma drew her gaze up and down, giving a contented little sigh. “I know I already said this, but: _God. Damn.”_

Neal raised his eyebrows. _“_ You _did_ say that,” he said. “A lot.”

“Yeah…” She eyed his somewhat smoothed-out appearance. “Hey, you know what would be fun right now?”

He glanced at her warily. “What?”

“‘Sexy cubicle worker’.”

“ _Here?_ Isn't that better saved for—“ Neal leaned forward, lowering his voice—“you know, a more private venue?”

“Aww…” she grinned, twirling her finger around the end of his tie. “Neal, are you _shy?_ ”

“Actually, it’s more because Henry is floating around here somewhere, and I don’t want to traumatize him,” Neal muttered, shifting his eyes around the room. 

“Then maybe we should get out of here, _if you know what I mean_ ,” Emma said in a low voice.

 Neal lifted his eyebrows. “Yeah, I know what you _mean_ ,” he said carefully. “But maybe this isn’t the time—“

“Oh, it’s very much the time,” Emma said, and started unraveling the tie-knot. “Because right now, _I—_ “ she ripped a few buttons right off the shirt—“need you to be ‘Cassidy from Accounting’, who’s frustrated because his boss is _really_ demanding and _really_ sexy, and—“

“Wait, I’m confused. A-are you—? Would you be the boss in this scenario, or—?” Neal moved his head as she reached to mess up his hair. “Em, come on, stop.”

“ _Oh…_ ” Emma smiled slyly. “You _are_ shy.” She stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “That’s hot.”

Neal pulled back, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “Not that I’m complaining, but are you feeling okay?” he asked. 

“I’m feeling _more_ than okay,” Emma winked. “Now, take off that jacket.”

“Em—“

“Do it slow,” she advised, arching her eyebrow. “Take it off _very slowly._ And then roll up your sleeves and look frustrated.”

Neal stared at her for a minute. “Do you realize we’re in a crowded room full of people right now? _Family members,_ I might add?”

Emma opened her mouth to tell him that was _exactly_ why they should be getting out of here right now, but she was interrupted by a door opening to their left: Ruby stumbled out, looking suspiciously rumpled. She glanced at them; paused to give Neal a considering look; then with an appreciative, “Hmph,”,  walked away. 

Emma frowned, swiveling her head to follow Ruby with narrowed eyes. “Is it me, or was she totally checking you out?” 

“Is it me, or did she totally look like she just—?”

The door opened again, and this time, an extremely-disheveled Hook slipped out, glancing from side to side. His gaze fell on Neal’s loose tie and ruffled hair, and he looked at him with wide eyes.

“Neal,” he said softly. “You _slut._ ”

“Are you—?” Neal widened his eyes incredulously. “Are you serious right now?”

“Look at your hair!” Hook laughed, pointing at it. “You little skanks, getting all sexy at the Christmas party! I’m so proud of you!”

“There _was_ no ‘getting sexy’,” Emma grumbled, folding her arms. “I was just starting to get things off the ground, and then you had to show up and spook him. “

“There wasn't going to _be_ any ‘getting sexy’!” Neal said exasperatedly. “Christ, am I the only one who realizes there are _children and family members_ at this party?”

“No, you’re just the only one who cares,” Hook shrugged. “Anyways, either of you know where Ruby went? I, uh—“ a grin split his face—“I need to tell her something.”

“Whatever it is, would you also mind telling her to keep her eyes in her head around Neal?” Emma said, stepping possessively in front of him. “Because when she walked out of that door, she definitely _lingered_ and _hmph_ ed.”

“She lingered and _hmph_ ed?” Hook frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Neal, didn't she linger and _hmph?_ ”

“Maybe a little,” Neal said, casting his eyes down. 

Hook exhaled exasperatedly. “Seriously?” he said. “I mean…what about me? She’s got _me,_ why is she lingering and _hmph_ ing at Neal?”

“She probably says the same thing when you hit on Regina,” Neal said reasonably.

“Yeah, but…” Hook flopped his hand toward the front door, where Regina was still surveying her living room with beady eyes, alert for any sign of spilling. “You know?”

“Don’t say anything else,” Emma warned, seeing Neal’s tense expression. “You’ve already made things uncomfortable, you don’t have to start making them offensive, too.”

“Actually, maybe it’s a better idea if you just leave,” Neal said stonily. “Might want to keep an eye on Ruby. You know how she gets at parties. ’Specially when she’s drinking.”

Hook blinked. “What?”

“ _Drinking,_ ” Neal repeated loudly, enunciating. “You know, alcohol? That stuff that lowers your inhibitions?”

“Inhibitions…?” Hook frowned, shaking his head slightly.

“Inhibitions. The things that keep you on your best behavior; that let you use good judgment; that keep you from doing stupid shit. _Things you don’t have?_ ”

“ _Oh…”_ Hook started to nod; then stopped, and shook his head. “Sorry, what?”

“Ruby plus drink equals indiscriminate sluttiness,” Emma translated.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Hook scratched the side of his head and cleared his throat. “Well, I’m not worried,” he said, though there was an undercurrent of _very much worried_ in his voice. “We’re solid. We have a completely solid relationship. Ish.”

“I don’t know,” Neal said, discreetly elbowing Emma. _Follow my lead._

“Neal’s right,” Emma said, more than happy to oblige: the sooner Hook disappeared, the sooner she had Neal to herself. “I mean, she lingered and _hmph_ ed at Neal not even a minute after you two finished doing disturbing things in Regina’s linen closet—“

“Do you mean the same disturbing things you were planning on doing to Neal?” Hook demanded.

“—which is different because you two are inherently creepy,” Emma said, raising her voice over his. “But that’s beside the point.”

“And what is your point?”

“My point is, if she’s window-shopping thirty seconds after you do her, there’s a problem,” she said flatly. 

“Lingering and _hmph_ ing doesn’t constitute ‘window-shopping’—“

“It is the _essence_ of window-shopping!” Emma said with a derisive laugh. “And I’ll you something, bro—if your girlfriend is batting her lashes at my boyfriend ten seconds after you, you should be keeping a _very_ close eye on her.”

“Yeah, if she’s brave enough to piss off Emma…” Neal shrugged, letting the sentence dangle  in the air. Hook looked between them, his eyes widening.

“Seriously?” he said in a hushed tone. “You—you really think I should be worried?”

“I think you should go and make sure,” Emma said, nodding profusely. 

“Definitely,” Neal assured him.

“In fact, I saw Graham wandering around earlier, and let me tell you…he was looking _pretty_ sexy.”

It was the final nail in the coffin. She knew exactly how Hook felt about Graham, particularly in regards to Ruby, and was hardly surprised when he looked up darkly and started clenching his hand into a fist.

“Is that so?” he growled.

“Oh, it’s so,” Emma said firmly. “It’s very ‘so’. It’s so ‘so’ _,_ that if I were you, I’d be sending up a few prayers to your pirate gods right now.”

“I don’t _have_ pirate gods!” were Hook’s parting words before he turned on his heel and stalked away. Emma watched him go, smiling in satisfaction as he disappeared into the crowd.

“ _So,_ ” she said, turning back to Neal and trailing her hands down the front of his jacket. “Where were we?”

Neal caught her hands. “ _We_ were going to go get some black coffee,” he said.

“Black coffee?” she frowned. “I’m not drunk, I don’t need black coffee.”

“ _I_ need black coffee,” he clarified. “All of a sudden, I’m just really in a coffee mood.”

“It’s really early to be drinking coffee.”

“It’s never too early to drink coffee,” Neal declared. “Coffee is the single most beautiful thing in the world. It’s rich, it’s bold, it’s full of caffeine, and I feel like it would really cleanse my soul after Hook and Ruby.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Cleanse your soul?”

“Cleanse my soul,” Neal nodded. 

Emma exhaled exasperatedly. “All right, fine. Let’s go drink coffee.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hook would have brushed Emma and Neal’s warning off and not given it a second thought, if it weren't for the snippets of conversations he caught as he wove his way through room, looking for Ruby:

“Okay, but did you see Neal Cassidy, though?”

“I don’t know what it is, but he is especially _fine_ tonight.”

“ _Damn…_ “

Hook gritted his teeth. That last comment hadn't even come from a girl: it came from Jefferson. And if there was any guy Jefferson should have been whistling at, it should’ve been _Hook._

Right? 

Neal couldn't be hotter than him, that was Hook’s _thing._ Because, if he was being totally honest with himself,  his greatest assets (only assets?) were his looks and charm. He might have been quite clever, had he not had such an alcohol problem—except, he _did_ have an alcohol problem, and possibly some kind of attention deficit disorder because he couldn't sit still long enough to bother _thinking_ about things. So really, he quite depended on the “hotness factor”, and if Neal was now beating him in _that…_

Well, shit. 

Hook stopped in the center of the room, scanning his gaze around the room for the cocktail bar, where Ruby was sure to be. Regina would have placed it in her line of vision, so she could monitor the alcohol level of her party guests, so if he drew a line from Regina’s post straight across the room—

“There you are,” he muttered, catching sight of Ruby mixing a drink for herself. She was only a little wobbly, so she wasn't terribly drunk yet. But Neal was right: too much alcohol, and she might start wandering off, looking for company.

 _Don’t be angry,_ he reminded himself as he made his way across the room. _Don’t be jealous._ Ruby had explained to him many times that jealousy implied possessiveness; that she was not a possession; that women were people, not objects. Hook had long since given up on explaining that the constant threat of jealousy didn't come fro misogyny so much as it came from the fact that he was impossibly neurotic and insecure, and his “friends” only reassured him that he was right to feel insecure because apparently, he was  (as Henry so eloquently described it) “kind of a dumbass” and (Rumple’s words) “Ruby could do better”. 

Regardless, showing up looking angry and jealous would hardly win him any points with Ruby, so he made sure that by the time he’d reached the counter, he’d suppressed his temper behind a facade of calmness. Ruby had just finished building her drink and was now preparing to shake it together.

“Hey,” Hook said, leaning across the counter. “Can I ask you something?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Ruby said distractedly as she capped the cocktail shaker. She twisted it a few times to make sure it was tightly screwed on, then started shaking it. “What’s up?”

“Um…” Hook followed the shaker with his eyes she sloshed it back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. how very satisfying a sound it was, to hear ice crystallizing against the tart alcohol, a small foam building underneath it all—

“Hook?”

“Right, sorry,” he said, blinking rapidly. “Got disoriented by that mix-y thing you were doing.”

“You said you wanted to ask me something,” she reminded him, concentrating deeply on unscrewing the cap and pouring a herself a tall glass of her dark red drink. _Raspberry_ , Hook thought randomly. _Or maybe cherry._ No, not cherry. Ruby didn't like cherry; she liked raspberry. 

Strawberry?

Maybe it was strawberry.

Why was he fixating on this?

Damn, he would kill for something strawberry right now.

“ _Hook._ ”

“Sorry,” he repeated, giving his head a little shake. “I keep spacing. This room is too busy, I’m getting distracted.”

“You want to talk somewhere quieter?” Ruby asked as she dropped an umbrella and a straw in her glass. 

“No, I hate quiet. It makes me nervous.”

“You want to talk somewhere louder?”

“No, I ‘m going to get distracted even more.”

“You want to stay here?”

“No, let’s talk somewhere quieter.”

Ruby let out a tense breath, swiping her drink off the counter. “You are _exhausting_ to talk to.”

“I know,” he said, following her. 

Ruby pressed the straw between her lips, swiveling on her heels  as she scanned the room for a less crowded space. “Hmm?” she murmured, still sipping through her straw as she pointed to the guest room, where Henry had been storing all the coats. 

Hook nodded, and allowed her to lead him through the crowd, weaving their way through people milling around the room as they chatted amiably. He thought he caught sight of Granny, and for a second, his insides froze—but then she was gone, and he relaxed again. Hook wasn't too proud to admit, the old woman terrified him: it went beyond the crossbow he suspected was never too far from her reach; she had a ruthlessness that made him think all those threats she made were very real indeed. 

“Where are you two going?” Regina frowned as they passed her at her post near the door.

“Just to talk,” Hook assured her. “It’s too loud over there.”

“Hold it—“ Regina seized his arm, jerking him back. Hook gasped in pain, shocked at the strength of her grip.

“Regina, let go!”

“What do you mean, _talk?”_ she demanded. “That better not be code for whatever creepy, kinky shit you two are into.”

“He means, _talk,_ ” Ruby said, placing her free hand over Regina’s. “But look, if you want, we can talk right here and discuss all our couple woes in front of you. Ooh, maybe you could do that thing for us that you did for Emma and Neal at Thanksgiving, and help us figure out what we don’t know how to say with a funny little commentary on the side—“

“Go,” Regina said, releasing them instantly. 

Hook shot her a dark look as he followed Ruby into the guest room, lamenting his injured arm. _Rude,_ he thought bitterly. 

Ruby twisted her straw in her mouth, still sipping contentedly. “So, what’s up?” she asked. “What did you want to talk to me about it?”

Hook shifted uncomfortably. Okay, now it was _too_ quiet. It was making him tense, he didn't like all this stillness, it was very—ooh, that was a nice coat. Furry, very soft looking—was it Belle’s? No, it was too long to be Belle’s, she was so tiny, like a little two-bite scone. _Scones._ Scones were good, he liked scones, especially blueberry ones—not maple, they reminded him too vividly of pancakes, and he _hated_ pancakes—

“Hook?”

“ _Sorry._ God, I keep doing that.” He gave his head a little shake, trying to clear it. “I’ve got the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel with ADHD. According to Neal.”

“He puts a lot of effort in his insults,” Ruby nodded thoughtfully. “I admire that.”

Hook opened his mouth, pointing at her. “See…that’s kinda what I wanted to talk you about,” he said hesitantly.

Ruby cocked her head, raising her eyebrows she took another sip from the straw. “Hmm?”

“Should, uh—?” He scratched the back of his head, trying to find a non-offensive way to ask, _Can you please not find Neal attractive, because now I’m feeling extremely insecure and worried that you’re going to leave me for the next scruffy little coffee-man who catches your eyes?_ “Should I be worried?”

Ruby knit her eyebrows together. “Worried about what?” she asked. 

“You…lingered.” Hook took a deep breath. “And then you _hmph_ ed.”

“I what?”

“Emma said, you lingered and _hmph_ ed,” he repeated, somewhat impatiently.  “At Neal. You walked out the door, you saw Neal, you lingered, you _hmph_ ed, and then you walked away.”

Ruby’s confused expression relaxed into a dry one. “Oh, my God, is that _all?_ ” she said, rolling her eyes. 

“I’m only asking if there’s anything I should be worried about,” Hook said, hating how whiny his voice sounded. “Emma and Neal said—“

“‘Emma and Neal said’!” Ruby threw her arms up exasperatedly, slopping half her drink on the coats. “It’s always, ‘Emma and Neal said’ with you! Why do you listen to them? You know they’re just messing with you!”

“They made some good points,” Hook said timidly. 

Ruby closed her eyes, as though she were trying extremely hard to be patient. “Okay,” she said through clenched teeth. “Literally, ten minutes ago—“

“I know ‘literally ten minutes ago’, but literally nine minutes and thirty seconds ago, you were window-shopping,” he said anxiously. 

“You’re reading _way_ too much into this,” she told him. “I seriously can’t even believe this is an argument.”

“It’s not an argument, it’s an airing of concerns.”

“They’re stupid concerns.”

“Are they?” Hook asked, raising his eyebrows. “Because I thought we were pretty stable at Belle’s wedding—“

“—vow renewal—“

“—whatever. I thought we were pretty stable then, but then _Graham_ happened and…” He waved his hand vaguely. “You know how that went down.”

Ruby frowned. “You _do_ know that I didn't dump you because of Graham, right? That was you, buddy. You started acting like _this—_ “

“No, no, no,” Hook said hastily. “I’m being nice now. I’m not getting jealous or anything, I’m only politely inquiring after my paranoia. That’s it. I mean, I’m kind of freaking out and I think I just broke into hives, but I’m… I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

“That’s because I’m not.” 

Ruby stared at him for a minute, as if she couldn't quite understand _why_ she was dating him in the first place. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked in wonderment. 

“I don’t know…I had a bad childhood?”

Ruby sighed heavily, slumping her shoulders. “Okay, come with me,” she said, dragging her hand into his.

“Where are we going?” Hook asked, careful not to get his hopes up that she had plans to “reassure” him. “Ruby?”

Ruby didn’t answer: she just pulled him along after her, turning her head this way and that as they went. Hook copied her, even though he hadn't the slightest idea what they were looking for. 

“Here,” Ruby said briskly, and without warning, pulled him quickly in one direction. He nearly tripped over his feet from her speed, struggling to keep hold of her hand as she led him to a table. She swiped out a chair with her foot, swung him around, and plopped him into it.

Archie, seated in the other chair, looked up from his lasagna with wide eyes. Hook smiled apologetically, seeing his own confusion mirrored in Archie’s face. Archie didn’t return the smile; he trailed his eyes up to Ruby’s.

“R-Ruby?” he asked. “Is—is there a reason why—?”

“Fix him,” Ruby said flatly. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“ _Fix. Him,_ ” she repeated loudly. 

“Fix him?”

“He’s got…I don’t know, like, _issues._ I need you to fix him.”

Archie looked at her for a minute; then at Hook; then back and forth a few times more. “He’s not a _clock,_ Ruby,” he said incredulously. “I can’t just _fix_ him.”

Ruby twitched her eye, as if she didn't quite believe him. “Then just watch him, okay?” she said. “Keep an eye on him.”

“Why? Where are you going?” Hook asked instantly, twisting in his seat. “Are you coming back?”

“Look…” Ruby sighed, slowly lowering herself to his eye-level. “Hook—“

“Ruby.”

 _“Hook,_ ” she said sternly. “You are stressing me out. I was counting on you to keep me from stressing over Granny being here, and you’re just making it worse. I can’t—I can’t handle all your feelings right now, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he offered.

Ruby looked at him wearily. “I know,” she sighed. She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss before straightening up. “I’ll come back later, I might need you.”

“‘Kay…” Hook frowned, trying to decipher the tangy taste she’d left on his lips. Not raspberry…what was that, cranberry? “Cranberry?” he asked, tilting his head to look up at here.

“What?”

“Your drink—was it cranberry?” He shook his head. “I was so sure it was raspberry. I thought you liked raspberry.”

“I _do_ like raspberry, but I thought cranberry was more festive.”

“Is there strawberry? Can you bring me something strawberry?”

“Fine. Archie, you want anything?”

“Yeah, to be left _alone,_ ” Archie said exasperatedly. “I’m not treating this asshole, especially not at a Christmas party!”

Hook raised his eyebrows. “Well, that’s nice language for a therapist.”

“He kidnapped me, threatened my life, locked me in the brig on his ship, and made everyone think I was dead!” Archie said, outraged. “I still have PTSD from that!”

“Oh, come on, that was years ago!” Hook snapped. “Bloody hell, get over it, man!”

“Don’t do it for him, Archie, do it for me,” Ruby simpered, her voice suddenly taking on the familiar damsel-in-distress tone. It was the same one she used whenever she was trying to get Hook to do something for her—and it worked, unfailingly, every time. So it was no surprise when Archie faltered, blinking at her clumsily. 

“I—b-but I—“

“ _Please,_ ” she pouted. “Just for a little bit?”

“But…” 

“For me?”

“I….” Archie trailed off, then sighed in defeat. “All right, fine.”

“Thanks,” Ruby beamed. She patted Hook’s head, then walked away, leaving the two men together in a very awkward silence. 

Hook tapped his fingers listlessly on the table, waiting for Archie to say something. Archie had to do the talking first, right? He was the therapist—didn’t they have to ask you about how pictures made you feel or something? He chanced a glance across the table: Archie was poking at his lasagna, avoiding Hook’s gaze. 

“So…” Hook cleared his throat. “So how do we do this?”

“Do what?” Archie lifted his head, looking at him incredulously. “I’m not giving you a free session. Especially not a party. Do you know how many hours a week I work?”

“No,” Hook said simply. 

“Do you know how many clients I have?”

“No.”

“Do you know how exhausting it is to feel personally responsible for someone else’s mental health?”

“No. Hang on, wait—no. No, I don’t.”

“No, you don’t,” Archie agreed grimly. 

“But,” Hook went on, unfazed, “Ruby asked you to help me.”

“Ruby asked me to babysit you. I don’t know why she’d do that, unless…” Archie gave him a considering look, frowning a little. “Are you posing a danger to yourself or anyone else right now?”

“Probably only to Belle. I trip over her, like, all the time.”

“She’s very tiny,” Archie mused.

“Like a scone.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Archie raised an eyebrow. “Why do _you_ think she left you with me?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “She said, I was stressing her out.”

“Hmm…And why would she say that?”

“Because…” Hook furrowed his brow, thinking back. “Because I was getting all…God, I don’t know! Because, okay?”

“‘Because’ isn’t really an answer, is it?” Archie prodded. 

“…No, I guess not.”

“So, then, why do you think the answer might be?”

Hook scratched the back of his neck. “Probably because I was asking her stuff that she didn't think was important.”

“What stuff?”

“Just…things. Emma and Neal said things, and I asked her about things, and she was all like, ‘ _Granny’s here’_ and ‘ _Why are we arguing about this?’_ and then she dropped me over here and told me to talk to you about it.”

“What kind of things?”

“Like…” Hook exhaled, and looked at the ceiling. “She was talking about Neal and said some things regarding his hotness, and I got a little miffed because it was right in front of me. And then Emma and Neal said that she lingered and _hmph_ ed at Neal, like, thirty seconds after…” Hook trailed off, suddenly wondering whether or not Archie was trustworthy to keep his and Ruby’s little linen closet adventure a secret. If Regina found out, she’d pull out rusty medieval torturing devices to slowly kill him with. 

But Archie seemed to understand nonetheless: he nodded thoughtfully, and said, “So, you were feeling insecure because Ruby found another man attractive.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s supposed to find _me_ attractive.”

“She can’t do both? Is she the only woman you find attractive?”

“Well…no, but she’s my favorite.” Hook dropped his eyes, finding it necessary to examine his rings. “I don’t have a lot else going for me, right now. I’m broke, drunk, and apparently damaged. And a lot of guys are like that.”

“So, you’re worried that if she doesn't find you exclusively attractive, you’re just going to blend into the background with a bunch of other mediocre guys?”

He took a minute to translate Archie’s words into something he could understand. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

“So—“ Archie leaned forward in his seat, rubbing his hands together—“before we go any further, I just want to reassure you…”

Hook raised his eyebrows hopefully.

“…I _do_ consider this to be a diagnostic interview, and you will be charged for it.”

“Oh.”

“That being said, do you really think that that’s the only reason why Ruby is with you? Because she thinks you’re good-looking?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a big part of it.”

“Maybe,” Archie shrugged. “But maybe that’s just what _you_ think. Maybe that’s the only quality you have that you feel confident about, so you cling to it and assume that’s all anybody else cares about. Tell me something—why do your friends like you? Is it only because they think you’re good-looking?”

“…No.”

“Okay. Why _do_ your friends like you?”

“I’m not entirely sure they do, actually. Everyone always seems to be calling me a ‘slut’ and rolling their eyes at me. Ruby’s the only one who seems to like me at all.”

“And why does Ruby like you?”

“Because I know how to make her laugh and we have a lot in common and—oh!” Hook pointed at Archie, his mouth falling open in surprise. “ _You’re good._ ”

Archie shrugged, taking up his drink. “We’ll discuss my fee later.”

 

* * *

 

 

_We’re on our way._

Henry let out a sigh of relief after he read Violet’s text. _Thank God._ He was so sick of being the coatcheck—especially since it involved spending practically the whole night next to Regina. Which might not have been so bad, had it just been the two of them, making sarcastic observations as the party went on; maybe later on, Neal would have joined them, and then a truly epic commentary lamenting the dumbfuckery of their friends and family could have unfolded. 

But they weren't alone: Rumplestiltskin had found his way over to them at some point, and he’d started discussing all sorts of complicated magical theory with Regina, every so often tossing Henry a quiz question—just to make sure he was paying attention, he said with a small chuckle. And if that weren't enough, Henry was stationed in such a way that he had a very clear view of Emma and Neal—more specifically, _Emma_ — and the whole thing was really uncomfortable and right now seemed like a good time to burn his eyes until they were empty sockets, but alas— _there were coats to check._

“…doing a lot of thinking,” Rumple was saying when Henry returned to the moment. “And, you know, when I brought magic here the first time, I used a True Love Potion.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Regina frowned thoughtfully, nodding her head. 

“Most powerful magic and all, I figured that would be strong enough to break through the realm division and bring magic here,” Rumple went on. “It worked, didn't it?”

“Yes, but that’s where I get confused,” Regina said. “We _have_ magic here. The realm division is compromised enough for magic. So what’s blocking the effects of Lake Nostos?”

“I’ve thought of that,” Rumple said, smiling triumphantly. “See, Lake Nostos is—Henry, how does the Law of Conversation translate to Balthazar’s Theory of Magical Energy?”

“Magic can’t be created or destroyed,” Henry droned. “Only converted. If you use magic, something has to happen.”

“Which means…?”

“All magic comes with a price.”

“Good boy,” Rumple beamed. “Anyways, as I was saying, Lake Nostos is not a manipulative magic, like ours; it’s a more powerful, ancient one. So I think it’s too strong to really come through its portal because the realm division is still too weak. If we could get another dose of True Love blasted down there, we might be able to break through.”

“So…” Regina gave her head a bewildered little shake. “What, you want to toss Snow and David down the well, and see if something happens?”

“Not what I meant, but I’m going to keep that tucked in my back pocket. What I meant—Henry, pay attention—what I meant was, if I had another source of True Love to throw down the well, we could use it to hold the portal open strong enough for the lake’s magic to come through. And then, all its resurrective power would come through, and Henry can bring your skank of a mother back.”

“Why me?” Henry frowned. “The magic isn't really coming from me, it’s coming from the lake. Shouldn't anyone be able to do it?”

Rumple looked rather annoyed with him. “Magic has to be _wielded_ when it’s being used for a specific goal. Not just anybody can do it, and everyone who _can_ expresses it differently. Like snowflakes, Henry, you know about snowflakes? How they’re all unique? Do you remember this analogy from that book I gave you?”

“Uh—sure?”

“I don’t want to go around changing variables, either. You were the one who the resurrection worked for the first time, so if anyone’s going to do it again, it has to be you. Who knows what would happen if I tried it? Or Regina? Or, God forbid, _Emma?_ ”

Henry sighed. His head was starting to hurt now. Rumple and Regina could go on for _hours_ about magical theory, and right now, all he wanted to do was grab a root beer and talk with Violet about how stupid this party was. He didn't want to stand there and get lectured about the physics behind turning someone into a snail.

“Do you have any more potion?” Regina asked skeptically. “Did you check your freezer?”

“I don’t think a potion would be enough,” Rumple frowned, apparently not hearing the mocking in his daughter’s voice. “I need something stronger.”

“I _said_ Snow and David,” Regina pointed out. “Or maybe just Emma. She’s a symbol of True Love, isn't she?”

“Wouldn’t mind tossing her down there,” Rumple grimaced. “Little slut’s running her dirty hands all over my boy—“

Henry cleared his throat pointedly.

“—I mean, Emma’s a lovely girl,” Rumple amended. “But no, I don’t think throwing someone down the well would work. Something charged with True Love—“

“Can we stop saying the words, ‘True Love’?” Henry asked. “I’m sorry, I know it’s the most powerful magic and all, but I literally can’t take us seriously right now.”

“I don’t make the rules, Henry, I just follow them” Rumple said staunchly. “As I was saying, something charged with True Love—“

A knock at the door saved Henry from hearing the end of that sentence. Regina swung open the door and greeted the guests with a flat, “Shoes.” Henry peered around her shoulder to see Violet and her parents kicking snow off their shoes. 

“Hey,” he said, waving at Violet. 

“Hi, Henry,” Violet smiled, giving Regina a nod as she stepped into the house. Regina forced a smile to her face, then very obviously rolled her eyes. “So…what are you, like, a doorman tonight or something?”

“Not anymore,” Henry said cheerfully, tossing her coat to Rumple. “You want to take care of that, Grandpa?”

Rumple caught it, startled, not taking his eyes off Violet. “Er…Henry, who is this, exactly?”

“Violet. Okay, bye.“

 _“Violet?”_ he heard Rumple whisper to Regina as he steered Violet further into the room. “Like, _Violet_ Violet?”

“Are they talking about me?” Violet frowned. 

“They talk about everybody,” Henry said, waving her concern away. “You want anything? David’s got a bunch of stuff in the kitchen, and if we’re lucky, there might be some lasagna left.”

“They’re…they’re not going to stare at me, too, are they?”

“Probably.”

“Oy.”

“I’ll you what—you can find a place for us to sit, and I’ll go grab us something. What do you like?”

She shrugged. “I’m not picky. Just nothing with olives.”

“No olives,” Henry nodded, and started making his way to the kitchen. He had to start humming very loudly in his head after he passed a string of Ruby waitress-friends discussing certain things about his father that he really didn't need to hear. Just to be safe, he hummed all the way to kitchen.

David was busy shaving his turkey into thin, servable slices, while Snow chattered on, building a big salad next to him. Belle sat at the counter watching them, slowly chewing her lasagna. Henry stood on his tiptoes, looking over the counter to see if there was any left— _damn._

“Last piece,” Belle said, pointing her fork at her plate.

“Who ate it all?” Henry asked, already taking two plates out of the cupboard and glancing over the other pans to examine his options. _The hell is that?_ he thought in alarm, looking at something black and congealed. “Gross, that’s not black pudding, is it?”

“What’s black pudding?” Belle frowned.

“Pig’s blood.”

“ _Gah!_ ” Belle choked on her food, gagging horribly. She covered her mouth and looked up at Henry with wide, horrorstruck eyes. “Oh, my God, that’s disgusting!” she said in a muffled voice.

“Yeah, I know. Hence the use of the word, ‘gross’.”

“It’s not black pudding, Snow burned my cranberry sauce,” David said.

“I didn’t _burn_ it!” Snow said indignantly. 

“Okay—“ David laid down the knife and fork and gave her an impatient look—“I said, _take the sauce off the stove, I’ll be right back._ And then you said, _Okay, sure, you got it._ And then you left it to boil over on the stove, and the whole goddamn thing was ruined.”

“I thought you meant the tomato sauce,” Snow said, nonplussed. “You should have specified.”

“Oh, don’t start,” Belle groaned as David opened his mouth. “Literally no one cares about cranberry sauce.” 

“What about this?” Henry sniffed suspiciously over a pot that had clams and shrimp tails bobbing through broth.

“ _That_ is bouillabaisse,” David said proudly. “It’s French.”

Henry pulled a face, and moved onto the next pot—borscht. “Jesus, don’t you have any normal food?” he said exasperatedly, and tossed down the plates in favor for a bag of chips and two sodas. 

“Henry, I _cooked._ What are you eating chips for?” David reproached him. 

“I don’t like bouilla-whatever,” he shrugged, scooting past Snow to grab two napkins. Snow followed his actions with narrowed eyes, slowing her salad-tossing. 

“Who’s the other soda for?” she asked. “You got a friend?”

Henry didn't answer, because he knew the minute he said it was for a girl, Snow would throw down her apron and start interrogating him. He balanced everything in his hands, determinedly avoiding her gaze, and strode out of the kitchen without another word. 

Again, he started humming loudly as he passed the waitresses (all of whom were sending a lot of side-eyed stares in one direction) and meandered through the crowd, keeping his eyes open for Violet.

He found her sitting on the stairs’ landing: a little removed from the rest of the party, but not so much so that Regina would have a legitimate excuse to wander away from her post to spy on them. Henry smiled to himself, making a mental note to congratulate Violet on her strategic spot, and climbed the short flight of stairs to join her.

“There was, like, no edible food down there, so I just got chips,” he explained, tossing her the bag. 

“That’s okay,” Violet shrugged as he folded his legs to sit beside her. “Chips are good.”

“Chips are good.” Henry cracked open the sodas and pushed one toward her. “Great spot, by the way. If we’d sat at one of the tables, we’d end up having to talk to people.”

“That is the literal _worst,_ ” Violet groaned. “I hate it when your parents bring this random person and say, ‘Hey! This is your cousin! They knew you when you were three!’ And then you have to talk to them about how much you’ve grown since you were three.”

“It’s like, ‘Bitch, I barely knew how to feed myself when I was three. What makes you think I remember you?’”

“Stupid,” Violet agreed, rolling her eyes.

They watched the party below for a few minutes, content to just crunch chips and drink soda while the adults carried elegant glasses of wine and plates of David’s elaborate food as they socialized. Henry saw Ruby pouring herself another cocktail at the bar, which meant Hook was probably close by…or not. Huh. Not that he was complaining, but the manwhore was nowhere in sight.

“That’s weird,” he muttered.

“What’s weird?”

“Normally, Hook hangs off Ruby like a parasite, but she’s on her own…oh, there he is. Wait—“ Henry craned his neck, squinting—“why’s he talking to Archie? Actually, you know what, forget it, I don’t care.”

Violet tilted her head, considering. “You know, it’s too bad we don’t have a water balloon or something. We’re at a perfect vantage point to hit him.”

“He’s got so much gel in his hair, he’s probably water-repellant,” Henry said regretfully. 

“Maybe we could fill it with tomato sauce.”

“Inspired,” Henry declared. “That’s absolutely brilliant. You want to?”

“What—now?”

“Sure,” he said cheerfully. “Come on, I think I have some water balloons hidden somewhere upstairs—“

“Wait,” Violet said, catching his arm as he moved to stand up. “Henry, I’m not going to throw tomato sauce in Regina’s house. She’ll _kill_ us.”

 _Shit, she’s right._ Henry reluctantly lowered himself back to a seat. “Damn it.”

“I meant, that we should wait to ambush him on the street one of these days. We could get Ava and Nicholas to help us, and we’ll just surround him from all sides and pelt him with sauce balloons.”

Henry beamed at her and was opening his mouth to sing her praises when he caught sight of something below that made his smile sour and slide off his face: Emma, twirling her finger around the end of Neal’s tie and combing her hand through his hair, while Neal seemed to be acting determinedly casual. Until Emma rose on her tiptoes and whispered something in his ear that made him spit his drink out and start coughing. Henry could have sworn he heard Neal say, “You want to _what?_ ”

“Oh, my God,” Henry groaned, and dropped his head in his hands, shaking it miserably. “That did _not_ just happen, _please_ tell me that didn't happen.”

“What?” Violet asked, startled. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s—“ Henry stopped, suddenly realizing how insensitive it would be to complain about his parents getting along _too_ well (way too well, for his liking) to someone whose parents argued incessantly. “Nothing, forget it.”

“No, come on,” Violet urged.

“Just my mom…She’s embarrassing.”

“What, Regina?”

“No…no, the other one.” Henry grimaced, trying to burn the memory out of his brain. “Emma. She gets a little rambunctious at parties…and whenever my dad wears a suit.”

“ _Oh…_ ” Violet said with dawning comprehension; then made a face. “Eww, they don’t actually—?”

“Violet,” Henry said loudly. “I’d rather not talk about this, okay?”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

“Let’s talk about something else. Anything. Please, literally anything, I can’t be alone with my thoughts right now.”

“Um…” Violet flickered her eyes around, looking for inspiration. “Let’s see… Oh!” She clapped her hands together. “I know—how are your magic lessons going?”

“They’re boring,” Henry sighed. “It’s literally just math and physics and chemistry… _with emotion._ ”

Violet made a face. “That sounds horrible.”

“It is,” Henry said dully. “I thought it was going to be so cool, but it’s fucking hard. It’s like being in an AP Tutor session with all the Asian kids.”

“All what Asian kids?”

“Okay, with _the_ Asian kid.”

“Hmm.”

“Honestly, I just want to get this stupid resurrection thing over and done with,” Henry said exhaustedly. “I am _so_ sick of magical theory and spending Saturday mornings at the well with Grandpa…especially since he always takes me back to have coffee with him after and his coffee _sucks._ ”

“How much longer do you have to keep it up?” Violet asked, raising her eyebrows.

Henry shrugged. “I don’t know. He seems to think he’s had a breakthrough, so if I’m lucky? Not much longer.”

Violet drew her knees to her chest and hugged them, resting her chin on her arms. “That’s so weird to think about,” she mused. “Coffee with Rumplestiltskin. Bringing people back from the dead.” She turned her head to look at him. “You have a strange life, Henry Mills.”

“Didn’t…?” Henry frowned. “Didn’t you grow up around magic? You’re from…you know, _there._ ”

“Yeah, but Rumplestiltskin was _The Dark One_ and magic was a legitimate threat and…” Violet trailed off, shrugging. “It’s just weird, to think about it so casually now. I mean, I’m friends with The Dark One’s grandson. That’s weird.”

“I get that,” Henry nodded. “I don’t really think of him as ‘The Dark One’ so much, though. Not since Belle made him stop using magic. He’s been dry for over two years.”

“You don’t worry he’s going to relapse?” Violet asked. “I mean, since he’s been helping you with all this resurrection stuff? Aren't there, like, _trigger_ thingies for addicts?”

“Well…” Henry stopped, furrowing his brow. She had a point, actually. Rumple had been quite enthusiastic for the weekend mornings they spent together. Henry had just assumed it was just grandpa-imparting-wisdom-feels; he’d never considered that it might be Rumple living vicariously through Henry while he learned the drug Rumple so missed—power. 

And every time he spoke to Regina about magic and all his theories, he got this feverish quality to his voice, a gleam in his eye. Again—he’d never thought of that gleam being anything more than Rumple delighting in being the cleverest in the room, but now that he thought about it…

Well, shit.

 

* * *

 

 

“So,” Robin said, setting a wine glass down in front of her, “I know you can’t drink alcohol, but I figured after a twenty-minute conversation with Rumplestiltskin, you could use a drink. So I brought you some sparkling grape juice.”

Regina stared at him for a minute, then slowly trailed her eyes down to the juice-filled glass in front of her. Did Robin understand that beverages didn't have the benefits of alcohol by mere virtue of being in the same glass? 

“You two were very whispery,” Robin remarked, taking a sip from his own glass (filled—very insensitively, as it was right in front of her—with wine). “What were you talking about?”

“Magical theory,” Regina said, picking up her glass and swilling the juice around experimentally. “We were talking about the portal in the well, and how to hold the barrier open wide enough to let the magic through.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, my God,” he said. “So, I’ll finally get to meet my not-really-but-sort-of-mother-in-law?”

“Slow your roll, we’re not even sure if it’ll work yet,”she grimaced. 

“What? Why not?”

Regina closed her eyes exasperatedly. “Robin, you don’t understand the first thing about magical theory. Do you really want me to try to explain to you the most complex subject I have ever studied to answer a question I’m not even sure has a right answer yet?”

“Um…” Robin blinked rapidly, trying to dissect her words. “I suppose not.”

Regina morosely swilled her juice around, then made a face and set it down. “This is horrible,” she muttered. “Can’t drink, stuck in this house with people I hate, all of whom are insisting I be cheerful because it’s _Christmas_. Well, excuse me, but do any of them have an unformed humanoid alien growing inside them?”

“Is it terribly uncomfortable today?” Robin asked worriedly. “Do you need anything?”

“I need you to _shut up,_ ” Regina said through clenched teeth. Robin’s insipid questions were the absolute last thing she needed right now. It already felt like this party had been going on for an eternity, and between the clear shot of Emma trying to  seduce Neal and the general misery of pregnancy, she couldn't decide which made her more uncomfortable (although both were great contenders). All she knew for certain, was that she was on her last nerve with every living and breathing person around her and she couldn't tell if she was hungry or  nauseous and she was ready to take that stupid tie around Robin’s neck and just _pull—_

“Oh!” he exclaimed as the glass shattered in his hand. Regina jumped, startled by the sudden surge power that had escaped her. Robin looked up slowly, pointing wordlessly at his now-stained shirt. “Was it—?”

“Yes, it was her,” Regina grimaced, putting a hand on her stomach. Maybe Baby Witch didn't take kindly to being called an “unformed humanoid alien”. Or maybe she just agreed with Regina that her father was beyond irritating right now.

“Oh, drat,” Robin sighed, looking down forlornly at the spreading stain. “I’ll just pop up stairs, grab a new shirt…back in a few, darling.”

“Take your time,” Regina muttered. She got up from the table and started for the kitchen, hoping to take refuge in a piece of lasagna or something.

She passed Archie and Hook, who seemed to be in a deep discussion about “… my mother always liked Liam better, which I know for a fact, because she told me to my face…”; then weaved her way around Mulan and a wild-haired redhead, who seemed very taken with Mulan indeed, judging by the nervous smile and the fluttering lashes; shunted past a growling Granny, whose unfocused eyes kept sweeping around the room; and finally landed in her own kitchen.

Steam rose out of pots and David frantically clattered around, checking this and that. She didn't know why he was still cooking, when he could have been out there, enjoying the party—or perhaps, David simply enjoyed the kitchen more than the party, so he kept inventing dishes to be served. 

Snow had given up on helping him and was now sitting at the counter with Belle and Ruby, sipping a glass of wine while Ruby slurred a story out.

“…getting so insecure and jealous,” she was saying as Regina drifted toward the counter with an empty plate. “It’s unbelievable—“

“Hey, Regina,” Belle interrupted. “If you’re looking for lasagna, don’t bother ‘cause—“ she pointed to her plate with a smug smile—“last piece, right here.”

“Goddamn you, Belle,” Regina glowered. There was an unpleasant ripple in her stomach; her fingers tingled, and then a crack zigzagged violently across the plate, sending one half shattering to the floor. Belle’s eyebrows flew up.

“Was that you or her?” she asked, nodding toward Regina’s stomach.

“Group effort,” Regina muttered darkly.

“You okay, Regina?” David asked, not looking up from his stirring. “You seem tense. Dangerously so.”

“I’ll be fine.” She lowered herself to the floor to start picking up the broken shards. _Perfect,_ she thought bitterly. God, she just hated everybody right now. Was it the lack of alcohol? The hormones? The crowd of people infecting her personal space? Was it even _her?_ Maybe Baby Witch was in a shitty mood, but Regina could feel her temper bubbling beneath the surface.

 _No,_ she told herself sternly as Ruby went back to her story. _Calm down before you break another plate._

“I mean, I know I’ve got issues, but _he’s_ got _issues,_ you know? _So_ insecure…he’s all like, ‘Ugh, Ruby, stop looking at other guys’, and I’m like, ‘Dude, I had sex with you literally ten minutes ago—“

Regina’s eyes bugged out and the plate shattered to dust. “ _WHAT?”_ she screamed, jumping to her feet. Hook and Ruby—? In her house—? They—? _NO! OH, GOD, NO, OH, DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN, WHY?_

Ruby looked petrified. “Shit, did I say that out loud?”

“ _YES, YOU SAID THAT OUT LOUD!”_  

“Regina—“ Snow began worriedly. 

“ _YOU SIT YOUR ASS DOWN!”_ Regina flung out her hand and a bolt of magic shot through her fingers gluing Snow to her seat. 

Belle pushed her half-eaten lasagna across the counter, and hopped off the stool. Regina barely glanced at her scurrying past as she advanced toward Ruby, her eyes glowing like coals with loathing and disgust. Ruby backed up against the wall, wide-eyed with terror.

“It—it wasn't my fault!” she squeaked. “David, tell her!”

“I don’t know anything about it,” David said distractedly, immersed in stirring.

“Snow?”

“I told you not to get involved with him, Ruby.”

“Spirit of my ancestors watching over me?”

“They can’t help you now,” Regina growled. “You and that herpes-infested pirate scum are going to burn for what you did. Not in hell—I’m going to _literally_ burn you.” She conjured a fireball, the flames crackling threateningly as it pulsed in her hand.

“Regina, come on,” Ruby said weakly.

“You can’t set someone on fire,” Snow said, her gaze darting between Regina and Ruby nervously. “Don’t go ‘Evil Queen’, Regina, you’re better than that.”

“Am I?” Regina challenged. “Doesn’t feel like it!”

“It’s probably just your hormones—“

“ _Will everyone stop talking about my fucking hormones?_ ” she snarled. “Sometimes, it’s not hormones! Sometimes, you people are just assholes!”

“It’s _Christmas—“_

_“YEAH, NO SHIT!”_

“HEY!” David shouted, throwing down his spoon. “If you guys keep shouting, you’re going to disturb my soufflés and they're going to deflate!”

The three women turned their heads, looking at David incredulously. He looked back at them with raised eyebrows.

“Stop looking at me like that, I’m not ashamed of my soufflés,” he scoffed. “I’m only going to be ashamed to serve them when they’ve fallen because you guys can’t behave like civilized humans.”

“David!” Regina said indignantly. “Do you _know_ what Ruby did?”

“Yes. Hook. In your linen closet. It’s a party with alcohol, Regina, it happens.”

“Oh, really? _It happens?_ ” Regina stepped toward him, a mirthless smile on her face. “Well, then, you’d be perfectly fine knowing that _your daughter_ is trying to do the same?”

David blanched. “What?”

“Thankfully, Neal’s not a complete slut, _like some other people I know—_ “ (Ruby rolled her eyes)—“but yeah, Emma’s definitely getting into the party atmosphere. Not too shy about it either,” Regina added, relishing the look of nausea on David’s face. “You still want to tell me it’s not a big deal?”

“ _Neal_ ,” David muttered murderously. His hands curled around the pot, as if he was preparing to throw it, the skin around the knuckles turning white as he tightened his grip. _“Neal…”_

“David,” Snow warned. “Think about your soufflés.”

“ _Neal…_ ” David shook with barely-contained rage. “I’m going to kill him.”

“What are you worried about?” Snow scoffed. “He already knocked her up once, what else is going to happen?”

“It’s not even that big a deal, David,” Ruby said, though her eyes were fixed on Regina. 

“Like _hell_ it isn’t!” David and Regina flared at the same time.

The door burst open, and Belle skated in, tugging a stumbling Archie by the hand. “Here!” she panted, pushing him into the middle. “Fix them!”

“I keep telling people, it doesn't work like that!” Archie said exasperatedly. “I can’t just _fix_ people!”

“You have to!” Belle insisted. “Regina’s going to kill Ruby because she and Hook sexed it up in the closet, and then she’s going to kill me because I ate her lasagna!”

Archie sighed heavily, sliding his hands down his face. “This family…” he muttered, shaking his head. “Okay, Regina, put the fireball away.”

Regina glowered, raising the flames higher. Archie stared back, unimpressed.

“Regina, put the fireball away,” he repeated.

“Why?”

“Because you’re not going to set anyone on fire,” Archie said flatly. “You’re misinterpreting your emotions as rational reactions to a situation that, in all honesty, you should have seen coming—no offense, Ruby, but yes, I am slut-shaming you and your boyfriend, because _really?—_ and you’re letting your pregnancy mood fluctuations take over and bring you back to that very dark place you were two years ago.” He paused. “Which is why I suggested regular anger management sessions—“

Regina made an impatient noise, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.

“— _which I am still suggesting,_ ” Archie said, raising his voice over her muttering. “Now, put away that fireball before someone gets hurt.”

Regina glared at him steadily for a minute, then slowly closed her hand, extinguishing the flame. 

“Good,” Archie nodded. “Let’s sit for a minute and—“

“Dr. Hopper!” Hook popped his head in, looking indignant. “What happened? I thought we were talking about my broken childhood!”

“ _You_!” Regina snarled, storming toward him. Archie immediately stuck out his arm to hold her back (saving Hook’s life in the process). “ _I am going to rip off your skin, and stitch it back on inside out!”_

“What’d I do?” Hook said wildly. 

“What you always do!” Regina snapped, struggling against Archie. “If I wasn't worried about catching diseases, I’d kill you with my bare hands!”

“Regina,” Archie warned. “Hook, get out of here, we’ll talk later this week.”

“But what about my—?”

“We’ll talk later this week,” Archie repeated loudly. “But if you want to live long enough to _see_ later this week, you and Ruby get out of here now. _Not together,”_ he added.

Hook spared Regina a disgruntled look, and shouldered back through the door, muttering something about “stealing my doctor”. Archie held Regina back firmly as Ruby passed them.

“Remember what I said, Ruby,” he called after her. “Don’t do anything stupid. No, Snow,” he interrupted himself, as Snow immediately opened her mouth. “It’s too easy.”

“So is Ruby. _Snap!”_ Belle looked positively delighted with herself as she held out her fist. “Somebody, fist-bump me!”

“Sit down, Regina,” Archie said, guiding her to one of the counter stools. “Breathe through your rage, don’t analyze it. You’ll only encourage it.”

“I’m going to put his remaining fingers in a blender—“

“Stop making threats, he’s not even here.” Archie pulled out the stool next to her with a weary sigh, and folded his hands together. “My God, you people are…” He shook his head, seemingly talking to himself. “This family…oh, this family. That one’s a compulsive slut, this one wants to set fire to everyone—“

“We’re not a _family,_ ” Regina snapped. “We’re not related, how _dare_ you slander my bloodline like that!”

“A family is not blood, Regina. It’s a group of people who hold a strong social obligation to each other over the rest of society. And for some dysfunctional reason, you’ve included Hook in that group, which is why you’re going to put down that fireball that you think I can’t see.”

Regina looked down at her hand, surprised to find another fireball pulsing over it. Archie raised an eyebrow at her.

“Put it down, Regina. You’re not going to set anyone on fire…right?”

Regina blinked, and closed her fist again. “I didn't even realize I was doing that,” she said. 

“Of course not…”

“No, no, I’m serious!” she insisted. “I didn't know I was using magic, it just started up on its own.”

“On its own?” Archie furrowed his brow. “I don’t know a lot about magic, but that’s not normal, is it?”

“It’s probably that baby,” Belle said, strolling back to the counter. She pulled the lasagna plate toward her. “If no one’s going to eat this…”

“She tends to encourage my temper flare-ups,” Regina explained in response to Archie’s quizzical look. “The baby, I mean.”

“The hormones, you mean.”

“The baby, I mean. Rumple thinks she has magic—and a temper.”

“Regina…” Archie looked at her impatiently. “Please don’t tell me you’re trying to use this child as a scapegoat for your emotional instability. I’m _still_ recommending you come in for anger management, regardless of who’s fault you think it is.”

“I’ve been doing fine on my own, I don’t need anger management.”

“You have _not_ been doing fine on your own. You conjured a fireball, and you didn't even realize it.” Archie studied her for a moment. “I think you should come in for some counseling. If nothing else, to learn how to control yourself when your… _child—“_

 _“_ I’ve been calling her ‘Baby Witch’.”

“…Whatever. But some counseling might be able to help you when she forces magic out of you. She seems to be very temperamental, and it’s still early, isn't it? I’d hate to see what she’s capable of the more she grows.” 

Archie sounded as though he didn't really believe her that Baby Witch was the culprit behind it; and perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was a convenient scapegoat for Regina, and it was easier to say that it wasn't her; that she didn't have a rage problem; that her unborn kid was possibly a psychopath who kept influencing her. 

But Rumple seemed quite certain that she had a witch-baby. So maybe _she_ was right—maybe it _was_ all the baby; maybe Regina was actually having someone else’s magic explode out of her, and it really wasn't her fault.

Or maybe it was pregnancy hormones influencing her emotions and making it harder to control her magic. Magic was all about emotion, after all. Maybe it all came down to brain chemicals. 

Maybe it was everything, at once. Maybe it was pregnancy hormones and Baby Witch and anger management problems all together. Whatever it was…well, maybe swallowing her pride and letting Archie teach her a few deep-breathing techniques wouldn't be such a bad idea. She was interested more in results than anything, and it would be nice to stop scaring herself by having magic come in random spurts.

“When does anger management meet?” she asked grudgingly.

“Tuesdays at four. We also provide refreshments, so if you know anyone else who wants juice and stale Oreos…” Archie shrugged. “Bring ‘em.”

* * *

 

 

Whale leaned against the wall, sipping his drink. He’d seen a lot of interesting things tonight. Well, not _interesting_ per se, but enough to keep him from going out of his mind with boredom. He never really talked at parties; he didn't have a group he hung out with; and it was too weird to be around Graham right now. He was still settling into the idea of being attracted to men and, while it was somewhat of a relief, it also took some getting used-to. So, the Charming-Swan-Gold-Cassidy-Mills-and-for-some-reason-also-Hook-and-recently-Ruby clan had provided some welcome distraction. 

He’d been playing a little game with himself, trying to imagine the most outlandish and yet entirely possible explanations of their behavior. For example, Ruby leading Hook to the guest room a few minutes ago:

“ _Oh, darling, you’ve never looked sluttier!”_ he imagined Hook saying. “ _And you’re drunk, too! Be still my heart! We’re more alike every day! It’s like I’m dating myself!”_

 _“It’s like I’m dating myself, too!”_ Ruby would have agreed delightedly. “ _God, I just want to make out with myself right now! You’re close enough—follow me!”_

_“Okay!”_

And then Rumple and Regina, standing around the doorway, talking while Henry lolled his head around in misery:

“ _Regina, there’s something I have to tell you—I’m part Hobbit, on my mother’s side! You’re one-quarter Hobbit!”_

_“Are you fucking kidding me? I could have been taller if it wasn't for your dumbfuck mother!”_

_“Don’t talk about my dumbfuck mother like that! Henry, you’re one-eighth Hobbit—defend your heritage!”_

And then Emma and Neal in the corner:

_“Let’s play, ‘Sexy Mugger’! I’ll keep roughing you up and pretending to search for your wallet, and you push me away and half-heartedly call the police! Ooh, this is a sexy tie, let’s incorporate the tie!”_

_“I can barely stay awake right now, and I loathe all of humanity. I’m not in the mood for ‘Sexy Mugger’. How about…’Sexy Bored People’?”_

_“Oh, Neal, you’re incorrigible!”_

Whale watched a little more, quietly observing his surroundings as per his usual custom. Hook talked to Archie, Regina stomped into the kitchen, there were some loud noises, then Belle rushed out and yanked Archie in, and then Hook followed—and walked right back out. _Well, of course,_ Whale thought reasonably, sipping his drink. Not enough Hook was stupid enough to stay very long in a room with an irritated, hormonal Regina. That woman was unstable as Jefferson was fabulous.

 _Jefferson,_ he mused. Should he talk to Jefferson? Ask him about…gay stuff? Was there stuff even to ask? Maybe there was a pamphlet: _So You’re Wildly Attracted To Your Roommate Who Doesn't Know You’re Gay, And He Has Really Soft-Looking Curls And A Six-Pack That Would Make Spartacus Weep With Pride._

Or maybe he could just deal with his sexuality the way he dealt with his feelings: put it off, let work come first, and content himself with _Star Wars_ and microwave lasagna. 

“Hey, Dr. Whale.”

Whale turned at the sound of Henry’s voice, startled by his sudden appearance. “Henry, where did you come from?”

“Those two,” Henry grimaced, jutting his head toward his parents. “Acting like that.”

Whale glanced over at Emma, who was unsuccessfully trying to push Neal against the wall—presumably to kiss him senseless or something along those lines. Neal didn't seem to be cooperating, but that wasn't deterring Emma’s efforts. “Yep,” he agreed. “That’ll do it.”

“Anyway, I just came over to grab some more sodas,” Henry explained, reaching around him to open the cooler. “Me and Violet just ate a whole bag of chips, so we’re, like, forty-days-in-the-desert thirsty.”

“Oh, you two are hanging out?” Whale said, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Henry grinned. “It’s awesome. We just sit there and people-watch and make fun of the world…Reject society, in general.”

Whale looked at him for minute, studying the boy: he was a smart kid…maybe a little snarky, maybe a little bitter, but he had potential. He had so much contempt for people…so little faith in humanity…He could be great, someday. “You know, Henry, you remind me a lot of myself when I was your age,” he said thoughtfully.

Henry looked up, his smile fading. “Dr. Whale, that’s so _mean.”_

“Hey,” Whale said, feeling offended. “Henry.”

Henry shook his head, the grimace not leaving his face. “What a nasty thing to say,” he muttered to himself. “You’re a real piece of work, Dr. Whale, you know that?”

Whale raised his eyebrows, staring wordlessly after Henry as he picked up his sodas and walked off. Where exactly did Henry Mills get off on calling _Whale_ “a piece of work”? 

 _You know what? I don’t even care,_ he decided, going to refill his drink. What did he care what a fifteen-year-old with a bad attitude thought? He didn’t. He was Victor-fucking-Whale. Doctor and necromancer extraordinaire. Who ate microwave lasagna and watched an unhealthy amount of _Star Wars._

The irony was not lost on him: he’d once wanted his name to stand for “Life”…and there wasn't a person, dead or alive, who lacked a life more than him. 

 _Okay, that’s it,_ he told himself. _You’re not going to do this anymore. You’re at a party, and you’re going to be involved. You’re going to be active. You’re going to talk to people. You are_ not _going to stand here and mope about how pathetic you are._

On that decisive note, he turned on his heel and swept his gaze across the room. After a moment’s hesitation, he made his way toward Jefferson, who was sitting at a table surrounded by a bunch of Ruby’s waitress friends.

“…very honored, thank you,” Jefferson was saying as Whale reached him; he glanced over at the sound of his footsteps, and broke into a smile. “Hey, Victor! Nice to see you!”

“Hey,” Whale said, smiling back awkwardly. “I’m bored, so…”

“Yeah, take a seat,” Jefferson said, waving him on. “These lovely ladies were just telling me I made second place in this year’s ‘Most Eligible DILF’ contest.”

“Well—‘eligible’ in the sense of ‘ _wish_ he was eligible’,” Ashley grinned. “Obviously, none of us are guys, so that kind of puts our chances at a zero, but whatever.”

“Apparently, I have _smoldering eyes,_ ” Jefferson said proudly. “What do _you_ think?”

Whale blinked. Wait, was Jefferson hitting on him? Or was he goading Whale to hit on him? Or was he just being jokey? Damn it! Was this how it was for girls who were friends with guys? Was there meant to be a sexual tension? Was there one right now? He should ask Emma: all her friends were guys, she probably dealt with stuff like this all the time…no, but then Emma would know he was gay, and he wasn't entirely sure if he was ready to come out. Because then Snow would try to set him up with every guy in town, and he _really_ didn't want to be set up.

“That’s awesome,” he said finally. That was a good, neutral response, right? Right?

“And Dr. Whale, we even added you as an honorary member, since you’ve spent so many hours around kids,”Ariel smiled. “You made fourth place, congrats.”

“I did?” Whale said, surprised. “Like—fourth place as an honorary, or fourth place among other honoraries?”

“ _As_ an honorary,” Ashley beamed. “It’s too bad you work so many hours. There’s a lot of girls who wouldn't mind spending some time getting to know you.”

 _Oh, sure,_ now _you tell me,_ Whale thought irritably. Where had they all been when he was “straight”? He glanced over at Jefferson, who seemed highly amused by something, but disinclined to share.

“Anyways—“ Jefferson coughed into his fist to hide his smile. “Congratulations, Victor, on your success as an honorary DILF.”

Whale eyed him suspiciously, barely hearing the small round of applause the girls gave him. _Bastard…he knows, doesn't he?_ Jefferson had once bragged about his gaydar. He probably knew all the Graham-central thoughts ( _rock-hard abs!_ ) rolling around in Whale’s head right now. 

“The _actual_ DILF fourth place/ fifth place including Dr. Whale was… what’d we say, Robin?”

“Robin,” the other girls chimed, nodding their head.

“ _Robin,_ ” Ashley confirmed. “Third place was Mr. Gold—“

“ _Mr. Gold?”_ Jefferson and Whale repeated in unison. “But—“

“—he’s old—“

“—and he hits people with his cane—“

“—and he’s mean—“

“—and he’s—“

“Sexy for an older man,” Ariel shrugged. “Girls aren't like guys, you know? Age is less important to us. It’s an actually an evolutionary mechanism. Males tend to seek out younger partners, because it increases the likelihood of reproduction; whereas females tend to seek out older males, because it increases the likelihood of resources and dependability, so they will have a provider for their young. It goes all the way back to…” She trailed off, suddenly realizing that the other girls were watching her quizzically. She cleared her throat. “I mean…he’s, like, old-guy-hot.”

“He _so_ is,” Ashley said, rolling her eyes in reverence. “So, he was a _really_ close third to Jefferson’s second, who was also a _very_ close second to Neal’s first.”

“Couldn’t lose to a better contender. Am I right, ladies?” Jefferson exchanged a conspiratorial smile with them all, wiggling his eyebrows. They laughed, and a few of them affectionately hit his shoulder and said, “Jeff, you’re so _bad!”_

“I know, I know,” Jefferson grinned, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “All right, everybody, me and Vic are going to grab a drink—“

“ _Aww,”_ they all complained in overlapping tones.

“No, no, no, come on,” Jefferson said, raising his voice over theirs. “I’ll be back later, I just want to threw a few back with the good doctor here. Come on, Victor, up you get.”

He pulled Whale to his feet with one swift motion, and clapped a hand on his shoulder with a careless, “Come on” before disappearing through the crowd. Whale twitched an apologetic smile at the girls, and followed Jefferson.

…right back to his little corner where he’d already spent most of the night: by the drinks. Jefferson was pouring two drinks, even though Whale was still holding his half-full (half-empty?) glass. 

“Here we go,” Jefferson said, passing him one. He plucked Whale’s other drink out of his hand, spraying a few drops as he swiped it away. “Drink up, you’ll like this one much better.”

Whale looked dubiously at the dark pink drink Jefferson had given him. “I don’t like strawberry.”

“Mmm—“ Jefferson frowned, shaking his head as he swallowed. “It’s cranberry. Try it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“No, come on,” Jefferson urged. “It’s a new recipe Ruby Lucas showed me. I kind of wanted to buy it from her. Or hire her for the bar at least, so she can mix it on request. I feel like this one is going to be a real moneymaker.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Whale said, setting down the drink. He wasn't overly fond of sweet, fruity, umbrella-drinks. It felt too much like he was drinking candy. 

“ _So—_ “ Jefferson grinned at him over his glass—“how’re things with Graham?”

“He’s a good roommate. Pays his rent on time, keeps the T.V. low when he’s watching stupid shit, makes good coffee—“

“And looks damn good with his shirt off, huh?”

Whale stopped. “Um, what?” he said, tugging at his collar. “I don’t, uh…I don’t know what you’re—“

“I’m talking about, the gorgeous hunk of man who you share a house with, and that gorgeous hunk of man’s six-pack. I mean—“ Jefferson fanned his hands—“ _whoo._ ”

Whale stared back at him sourly. “So you do know. About me.”

“Gaydar,” Jefferson shrugged. “So, how are you adjusting?”

“Well, it’s not like I had much of a love life before, so it’s hard to notice a difference,” Whale said truthfully. 

“You seem less tense,” Jefferson said. “It’s nice, being honest with yourself, isn't it? Not hiding it, not pushing it down…very relaxing, don't you think?”

“I’m a surgeon, Jeff. There’s always something to unrelax me. Do you know, a guy came in the other day with half his toe off?”

“That’s disgusting, and you’re changing the subject.”

“I thought it was the natural flow of the conversation. And also, I’m pretty confident that Graham’s straight, so…”

“Maybe,” Jefferson said, sounding unconvinced.

“He _told_ me,” Whale insisted. “The night he came from his date with you. He didn't even know it was supposed to _be_ a date. He thought you guys were just hanging out. And honestly, I’m pretty sure he likes girls.”

“I thought I did, too, at one point!” Jefferson laughed. “How do you think I got the kid?”

Whale followed his line of vision to Grace, who was sitting at a table with a few other girls, giggling at something on her phone. 

“She is the _one_ good thing that came out of that relationship,” Jefferson said bitterly, a faraway look in his eyes. “Because Grace’s mother…oh, God, she was the worst.”

“Why, what happened?” Whale frowned. “I assumed she was…you know… _deceased?_ ”

“Who knows?” Jefferson snorted. “I told Grace that, so she wouldn't grow up completely damaged. Truth is, the bitch left. Packed her bags one day, and skipped off with some other guy. One of those,” he added, nodding at Hook, who was wandering around aimlessly. “Useless pretty-boys with nothing but dust in their skulls.”

Whale nodded silently, unsure of how to respond. That didn't seem to be a problem for Jefferson, though; he seemed to have plenty to say on the subject.

“You know what the problem is with guys like that? People don’t want pretty guys to be assholes; they want them to be knights in shining armor. Even when everything about them screams ‘asshole’, people will explain it away to protect the little fantasy taking up space in their brains.” Jefferson glowered, his fingers tightening so much around the glass, it threatened to break. “People are fucking stupid.”

“Preach.”

“No, they’re really _fucking_ stupid,” Jefferson said vehemently. “Sometimes, it just makes me angry, how stupid they are. I feel like I’m stuck in my house all over again, watching them walk blindly about their lives. See, they don’t _know_ how stupid they are—they don’t know any better. But I’m _not_ stupid, so I have to live in painful awareness that I live in a world of fucking idiots.”

Whale almost touched a hand to his heart: _poetry._ Such glorious, misanthropic poetry. 

“I’m almost glad Grace’s mom left,” Jefferson went on. “She was one of those—completely stupid. One look at that pretty-boy, and she was out the door. I’m just glad she left before she had a chance to infect Grace’s head. Innocent children shouldn't be around stupid people; they deserve a fighting chance.”

He lapsed into silence, sliding into meditative trance; his eyes glossed over, his head nodding slightly, his lips moving as he mumbled indistinguishably to himself. Whale looked around the room, wondering if he should leave. He didn't want to disturb Jefferson’s…whatever was happening there. 

But then, Jefferson snapped out of it, saving him the trouble of deciding. “Sorry about that,” he said, forcing a smile. “The holidays…they bring out the worst in me. Reminds me of the twenty-eight-years’ worth of holidays I  spent alone.”

“I spend my holidays alone, too. Save for lasagna and _Star Wars._ ”

Jefferson looked at him for a moment, almost pityingly. “That’s…nice.”

“God, get a room, you two!” Henry’s voice snapped, making them both whirl around—just as Neal pushed away from Emma, saying, “There, you see? You broke Henry!”

“I didn't break him! Believe me, he’s seen far worse from my parents!”

“I did _not_ need to know that! Thanks, Em—now you broke me, too!”

“Neal, wait!”

Emma scampered after Neal, disappearing from sight, just as a grimacing Henry came into view.

“Hey, guys,” he muttered, moving past Jefferson to open the cooler. “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” Jefferson said, looking down at the top of his head. “What about you? You seem… _miffed._ ”

“Miffed?” Henry let out a bitter laugh, straightening up. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

“They embarrassing you?” Jefferson nudged him. 

“I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s talk about something else. What are you talking about? Let’s talk about that.”

“We weren't really talking about anything,” Whale shrugged. “Just debating whether or not Graham’s gay…and some other stuff. Grown-up stuff.”

“Hmm,” Henry said as though he weren't entirely listening. “Well, if you want my advice on Graham, just remember: communication is key. Just look at my parents—they didn't communicate before, and they weren't together and they were maddish at each other and bitter and sad all the time. And now look that them—they couldn't _be_ more happy.” Then added in an undertone: “And I couldn’t be more miserable.”

“I seem to recall a very salty teenage boy insisting that his parents were getting back together,” Whale said, raising an eyebrow. “Now you’re upset that it’s happened.”

“Yeah, I want them _together._ I just don’t want to see it. I don’t need that—I’m screwed up enough as it is, I don’t need more trauma.”

He walked away, leaving Jefferson and Whale to stare bewilderedly after him.

“There’s just no pleasing that kid.”

“Tell me about it.”

* * *

 

 

“Neal? _Neal?_ ” Emma’s voice wavered from down the hall. “Where the hell did he go?”

Neal held his breath and shrank against the wall as far as he could. He was perfectly aware of how strange it was, for a guy to hide from his extremely hot and extremely horny girlfriend; and under different circumstances, he wouldn't have been complaining.

But alas, Neal had been cursed with something called “foresight”. “Foresight” meant “being extremely aware of being surrounded by family and friends who all had a front-row view of Emma’s ministrations, and really not wanting to invite snarky comments from Hook; glowers from Rumple and David; judging looks from Regina; or loud complaints from Henry.” He didn't want to dethrone Hook and Ruby as Storybook’s sluttiest couple, either—not when they’d put so much time into campaigning.

“Neal?” Emma’s heels clicked past him, her voice carrying as she went farther down the hall. “Hel- _lo-o-o-o?_ Goddamn it, where is he?”

Neal waited until he could no longer hear her footsteps; and then let out his breath and stepped out of the shadows, turning in the opposite direction. 

It steered him away from the party, toward the quieter part of the house where the back staircase was. Well removed from the crowd, away from the glare of the obnoxious Christmas lights and the music beating from the speakers…a good place to hide out, at least for the time being.

Robin must have thought so, too, because there he was—sitting on the bottom step, staring dully at the floor with a mostly-empty beer bottle swinging from his hand. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Neal asked by way of greeting, sitting down beside him.

“Apparently, everything,” he said bitterly, taking another swig of his drink. “Just ask Regina.” He glanced at Neal, raising an eyebrow. “What happened—you get mugged?”

“Emma happened. She’s…especially fond of me today.”

“Oh, I see.” Robin smiled humorlessly. “Regina’s especially _not_ fond of me today.”

“Sucks.”

“That it does, Neal. That it does.” 

They lapsed into awkward silence, the way they normally did when Hook wasn't around. Neal never quite knew what to say around Robin: Hook gave them a common ground, as he often said things that allowed Neal and Robin to gang up on him. But other than that, they’d grown apart over the years—possibly because Hook had pushed his way in between them, demanding as much as attention as he did, but there it was. 

“So, why are you hanging out here by yourself?” Neal said finally.

“Avoiding Regina.” Robin tipped the bottle again and swallowed, exhaling loudly. “God, she’s the worst.”

Neal’s eyebrows jumped. “Okay. Sensing some bitterness.”

Robin didn't answer. He stared straight ahead, tapping his fingers deliberately against the bottle. “I’m not going to have much of a place in my daughter’s life, am I?”

“Er…”

“She’s magic,” he said flatly. “Regina’s already talking about your father training her. And how she’s going to teach her everything there is to know about potions and curses and spells…That, and how she’s going to be a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer—something that requires lots of studying and schooling, anyway.”

Neal shrugged. “Nothing wrong with having ambition for your kid.”

“Yes, okay, ambition’s fine. But this child hasn't even been born yet, and Regina’s already planned out her whole life!” Robin said impatiently. “And I don’t have a part in it! I can’t teach her magic, I can’t teach her math and science, I can’t do anything! I’m helpless, in all of this—do you know what I’m here for?” He didn't want for Neal to answer; he jabbed a finger at him, and hissed, _“I’m the whipping boy._ Every time something bad happens, I get the blame for it; every time someone irritates her, she takes it out on me.”

Neal knit his brow in confusion. “I thought you guys were…I don’t know, like, in love and shit.”

“I _do_ love her,” Robin said. “Maybe it’s the masochist in me, and maybe two people couldn't be more ill-suited, and maybe it was only possible by a weird combination of fate and accidents and a very nosy fairy, but I love her.” He paused. “She’s not an easy person to love, though.”

“But—“ Neal shook his head—“but you’re always smiling a-and laughing—“

“I’m on bloody Prozac!” Robin said exasperatedly. “Antidepressants, Neal! I’ve been medicated for two straight years! Of course I’m always smiling! What, did you think I was just _overjoyed_ with life? No one is that happy unless they’re on something!”

“Shit.” Neal stared at him with wide eyes. “Sorry, man, I didn't know.”

“Of course you didn't know! Because who bloody asks? Who asks about Robin? Oh, he’s just Regina’s pageboy, isn't he? Just her little boytoy, he’s not important.” Robin glared at the ground, twisting his hands around his beer bottle. “Everyone, all the time… _’Robin, help me find a girlfriend’_ and _‘Robin, I feel disconnected from my boyfriend’,_ and ‘ _Robin, I don’t know how to deal with being a father’ —_ I mean, do you people realize, _I don’t have all the answers?_ Look at me, I’m having a child with a woman who used to call herself ‘the Evil Queen’! _I’ve got my own issues to deal with!”_  

 _What do I do?_ Neal thought, feeling rather panicked. Robin was threatening to fall apart in front of him, judging from his shaky voice and the ever-tightening grip on the bottle. _Emotion…_ Neal usually focused all his energies on ignoring them, but Robin seemed to have no control over his. What was he supposed to do in this (highly uncomfortable) situation?

 _Talk?_ a small voice suggested.

 _That’s dumb,_ he scoffed. 

_I’m serious, bro. Robin probably wants to talk—he does shit like that._

_You’re right,_ he mused. _All right, thanks._

_No problem._

Neal took a deep breath, bracing himself for a conversation that could potentially include man-tears. He wasn't sure if he was prepared for that, but there was no helping it now.

“So, you, uh—“ he coughed into his fist—“you’re not doing too good with all this magic stuff?”

“It’s more than magic. It’s Regina in general. She’s just…she’s a very _rigid_ person—I’m not. You know me, I’ve got a big, soft heart, I’ll love anybody. Especially her. But I feel like she only tolerates me.”

“You tell Regina any of this?”

Robin slowly turned his head, looking at him incredulously. “Yeah. Right after I suggested we adopt Hook.”

“But, like…” Neal waved his hand, searching for words. “Like, what brought this on? You’re usually so… _Robin._ ”

“Relationships take work, okay?” Robin said. “I put a lot of effort into being there for her—even when she’s not paying any attention to me, I’m _there._ But I get exhausted, too. Do you know what it’s like, having a person who once did unspeakably horrible things depend on you?”

Neal’s thoughts immediately drifted to his father. A series of unpleasant childhood flashbacks swept over his eyes: a man being turned to a snail—a mute girl seeing the Dark One dagger—crowds scattering every time they walked in a village, knowing that any one of them could be killed with a flick of the wrist. Rumple had lost himself when he became the Dark One: let his mind be infected with power, changing from the loving father from his earliest memories to a power-hungry, cold-hearted, calculating  creature. 

He was different now: Belle had found the little bit of warmth left in his heart, and brought him back to the man he was. He still had traces of that poison in him, but the love he had for Neal and Belle kept him anchored. And as great as it was to have his father back, Neal could never completely relax around him, knowing the things he’d done. He just dealt with it the way he dealt with everything else: ignored it, repressed it, and tried to forget.

“How do you do it?” he asked finally. “Live with…the knowing?”

“Prozac. Not talking or thinking about it. Remembering that I wasn't always a model citizen myself and using that as a justification.” Robin took another gulp from the bottle and wiped his hand across his mouth. “We’re not so different, Neal. We deal with things by not dealing with them.”

Neal closed his mouth, having opened it to say something about how unhealthy that sounded—until he heard the last part. It startled him, sending his thoughts into a scattered mess.

He wasn't like _Robin._ Robin was emotional and sensitive and wore his heart on his sleeve—

_And ignores anything that threatens to upset his calm life and avoids thinking about emotional issues and pretends he doesn't feel certain things—_

_Dude, shut up!_ he told the voice exasperatedly. _I’m dealing with a Robin situation right now!_

_Bro…come the fuck on. You’re having a moment of self-reflection right now._

_No, I’m not. Shut up. Get out of here._

_Okay, do you see the irony? You’re regretting how you push thoughts away—while you’re literally in the process of pushing me away. Like…are you doing this on purpose? Is this supposed to be funny?_

_NOT LISTENING, NOT LISTENING, NOT LISTENING—_

_Oh, yeah, that’s REALLY mature—_

_NOT LISTENING, NOT LISTENING, NOT LISTENING—_

_Whatever, bro. Don’t listen, it’s fine—it’s not going to make anything go away, though—_

_NOT. FUCKING. LISTENING._

_Fine, then stop fucking talking to me!_

_Fine!_

_Fine!_

_FINE!_

“What’s fine?” Robin frowned.

“What?”

“You just shouted, ‘Fine’—like, really loud.”

Neal blinked. “I said that out loud?”

“Yeah, right in my ear, mate.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Robin offered him half a smile. “Thanks, Neal.”

“For shouting in your ear?”

“For listening to me. For being there.” Robin looked at him for a minute, nodding slightly. “It helps.”

“Yeah…” Neal tapped his fingers together, feeling rather awkward about accepting gratitude when he wasn't even entirely sure how he helped. “So, are you good now? Feeling…less shitty?”

“For now,” Robin shrugged. “It won’t last, though—it never does. Thank God for Prozac. And for…Bro-zac?” He raised his eyebrows hopefully. 

“Oh…no, Robin, let’s not call it that—“

“Bro-zac,” he repeated firmly, and held out his fist. “Let me have this, Neal.”

Neal looked down at his fist and with a reluctant sigh, bumped it. “All right,” he said wearily. “Bro-zac.”

“There you go.” Robin picked up his bottle and held it up to the light to consider it. “Hmm,” he frowned, sloshing its contents around. “Running low on the alcohol here.” He glanced over at Neal. “You want to come with me to get some more?”

Neal shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“Excellent.”

They both winced as they made their way out of the shadowed room and into the brightly lit hall. The party seemed to be dying down some, though there were still enough people to make the trek to the kitchen a hassle. Neal held up his elbows, trying dodge his way through the crowd that milled around,

“’S’cuse me…s’cuse me…’s’cuse me—“

“Neal?”

Neal jumped back, knocking Leroy to the floor. “Emma, don’t!” he warned, ignoring Leroy’s muffled curses. “I’m dealing with a Robin situation right now, I don't have time—“

“No, no, no,” Emma said, shaking her head. “I just want to talk, okay? I swear. What? Neal, I _swore,_ ” she said when he gave her a skeptical look. “Come on.”

Neal narrowed his eyes. “You sure about that?”

“ _Yes,”_ she said, looking at him so earnestly, he actually believed her.

“All right—just to talk.”

Emma relaxed, letting out a relieved breath. “ _Thank you._ ”

“Just to talk,” Neal reminded her as she took his hand and led him off to the side. “You better not try to corner me against the wall again—I don’t like that. It’s vaguely threatening.”

“I was going for ‘passionate’,” Emma said in an injured tone.

“It came off more like ‘rapey’.”

“Shit.” Emma’s eyes widened. “Did it really?”

“It really did,” Neal said flatly. “Especially since I said, ‘Emma, stop’, like, fifty times.”

Emma knit her brow worriedly. “Are you very angry with me?” she asked. “I figured you must be, once I realized you were hiding from me.”

“I wouldn't say _angry,_ ” Neal said. “But I think we both know how I feel about P.D.A.—“

“I know, but—“

“—people judge you, it’s embarrassing—“

“Yes, I _know,_ but—“

“—hate being judged, you _know_ that, Emma—“

“I _do_ know that—“

“—how can I properly judge people, when they’re judging me?”

“Neal!” Emma covered her hands over his mouth, looking at him desperately. “Can you just give me a chance to explain?”

Neal frowned down at her hands, and carefully pried her fingers loose. “I don’t be appreciate being _shush_ ed, either.”

Emma let out a frustrated breath and dropped her hands. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was just…” she shrugged. “I don’t know. I was feeling spontaneous. I thought I could persuade you into ditching the party with me, but that clearly failed.”

“Emma,” Neal said impatiently. “If you wanted to ditch, why did we come to this thing at all? I could have lived without the public performance, you know?”

“I _know,_ ” she droned. “Hence the word _spontaneous._ I didn't plan ahead of time, it was—“ she waved her hand—“you know, like a heat-of-the-moment kind of thing.”

“Well, heat-of-the-moment doesn't really work when you’re surrounded by parents and step-parents and kids and obnoxious friends,” Neal said. “I mean, how does that _not_ bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me, but we never get a minute alone anyway!” Emma said exasperatedly, throwing up her hands. “This family is so congested and nosy and over-involved in each other’s lives all the time, there’s never a private moment! There’s no breathing space! There’s no breaks in between! It’s just constant, all the time, and it’s _impossible_ to do anything without someone knowing about it!”

Neal stared at her bemusedly as she slumped her shoulders, hanging her head.

“There’s _never_ a private moment,” she repeated wearily. “Everyone is always _there,_ all the time. We don’t get any time, just the two of us, because there’s always someone else around, being a third wheel. Or a fourth wheel. Or a fifth or a sixth or billionth wheel, because literally everybody in this town knows everyone else’s business.”

“ _Wait_ a second,” Neal scoffed. “Are you saying, that because we can’t get an actual moment alone, you waited until the entire town was gathered in one house, so we could have a moment alone _in front of them all?_ ”

Emma raised her eyes to the ceiling, thinking it over. “ _Huh_ ,” she said. “When you put it like that…”

“Sounds kind of like something a dumbass would think of, doesn't it?” Neal said, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head. Emma flicked her gaze back to him, and flashed him a sarcastic smile.

“Thank you. Thank you for making an effort to understand, that’s very sweet.”

“I didn't say, I don’t understand. I’m just questioning your method. And sanity. And a little bit, your intelligence.”

“Look, I’ve been waiting _sixteen years_ to have a life with you,” she said flatly. “And I _thought_ this moving-in-together thing would at least be a start, but then Hook jumped in, and my dad threw a fit, and _your_ dad’s out for my blood… There’s always something putting us on hold. I’m just working with what I have. Question my judgment all you want, but at least I’m making an effort. Which is more than I can say for you.”

She folded her arms and raised a challenging eyebrow. “You told me in Neverland, that you would never stop fighting for me. So, like—get fighting, dude.”

“Okay, but _you_ told me in Neverland that you were hoping I was dead—“

“You are taking that out of context,” Emma said, raising her voice over his. “I said, I was hoping you were dead, because of the love-thingy between us and hurt feelings getting dredged up and why are we even talking about this?”

“You invited it into the conversation,” Neal shrugged. “I thought it was the natural progression.”

“Neal,” Emma said, in the exasperated way she _so_ often said his name. “I also said, I loved you and I always will. Why do you never remember _that_ part?”

“Well, the _hoping you were dead_ thing is the one that kind of haunts me. Especially since I also learned some interesting things about you and Hook that day—“

“Aaagghhh, don’t talk about it!” Emma complained, covering her ears. “Eww, God, please, don’t talk about it!”

“You bring up Tamara all the time,” Neal frowned. 

“Yes, but that’s _different,_ ” Emma said desperately. “Tamara wasn't just a one-time, drunk-and-bored mistake. And I still don’t know how we got on this topic. And _don’t_ say it was the natural progression!” she added fiercely, seeing him open his mouth.

“Fine,” he said. “Then, we got on this topic because you tried to use Neverland against me, and you should know by now, that if we’re going to argue Neverland, I am always going to win. Dude, you should have brought Tallahassee into this, _that_ would have given you a leg to stand on.”

Emma stared at him incredulously. “Are you actually _critiquing my argument skills_ right now? In the middle of an argument? An argument that’s basically, who loves who more? Are you actually doing that that, Neal?”

“I’d say, it’s more about, who’s said more dumb shit than who—“

“Yeah, but I say and do dumb shit _because_ I love you. _Huh_?” Emma nodded her head, smiling in appreciation of herself. “How’s that for romance?”

Neal frowned. “That literally makes no sense.”

“Oh, it literally does. You just don’t get it because you’re emotionally anesthetized. But believe it or not, Neal, _humans_ often get carried away with feelings, and they act with poor judgment because of them.” Emma let out a heavy sigh, and folded her arms. “Which brings me back to my original point.”

Neal raised his eyebrows, prodding her. “Okay…?”

“I’m frustrated. I’m impatient. And the fact that you’re—“ Emma shook her head, closing her eyes in reverence—“ _especially_ sexy today doesn't help things—“

Neal flicked his eyes upward, but didn't say anything.

“Point is, I’m sorry. I know I was…weirding you out—though, frankly, you could have it off a lot worse, than having a hot blonde throw herself at you, just saying—“

“In front of a crowd, which is highly disturbing for someone like me, because then everyone judges.”

“—but I only did it because I’m crazy about you, and I have really poor judgment skills, and absolutely no boundaries sometimes. And plus, I drank some pink stuff earlier, and I think it was a lot stronger than the black coffee.” Emma flopped her hands dejectedly. “Further evidence of my poor judgment skills.”

Neal looked at her for a long time. Emma-fucking-Swan: possibly the most frustrating woman in his entire universe. Because somehow— _somehow—_ even after all the dumb shit she said and did; even with every painfully obvious flaw and obnoxiously obvious ego; even with every screwed-up, mentally unstable, borderline psychotic, and just plain _weird_ thing about her, she was Emma. 

Just…Emma. 

How did a guy like Neal get addicted to a girl like Emma? She was everything he wasn’t—and simultaneously, exactly everything he was.

_Wait, what?_

_I don’t know,_ he told the voice exasperatedly. _I’m out of fucks to give here. My brain hurts._

_I literally don’t even know what that means. How can she be everything you are, and still be the exact opposite? You’re not a fucking poet—stop trying to be a fucking poet. Can’t you just be normal, and say something like, “Oh, she’s fucking crazy, but I still love her”, and be done with it? Jesus, dude._

_Shut up. Don't you have some minor action of mine to psychoanalyze and torture me with later?_

_Yeah, but you left the door wide open with “everything you aren't and everything you are” or whatever you just said. Shit…And you accuse_ her _of saying dumb shit._

_Fuck you._

_Fuck_ you!

_Fuck YOU!_

“Neal?” Emma crinkled her brow. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Neal blinked at her. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“You’re…growling to yourself.”

“I am?”

“It’s a little weird, actually.”

“Oh.” Neal gave his head a little shake. “Sorry about that. Listen—“

Emma raised her eyebrows hopefully.

“—I get it, okay? It’s dysfunctional, and it’s annoying, and it’s suffocating, but Em…this _is_ our life together. It’s got a big, crazy, mentally unstable family attached, and random people traipse through and disrupt it, but that’s just what families do.” Neal lifted his chin, feeling rather inspired. “You have to look for the moments in between all their crazy shit, and take what you can get. Not _during_ —-in _between.”_

He coughed into his fist. _“_ That being said…that doesn't mean you can’t help those between-moments along. Sometimes, it’s perfectly acceptable to…oh, I don’t know…kick a certain roommate out for the night that leaves a certain apartment otherwise empty.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” she asked, a shrewd smile crawling on her face.

“ _You_ have to be the one to tell Hook to take off for the night,” Neal said firmly. “I don’t want to deal with it. I already had to deal with Robin’s emotions, and between that and this little thing we just had here, I’m mentally exhausted.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Emma shrugged. “Ruby’s a great motivation for him. I’ll just get her to take him home with her.”

She turned to leave—then stopped mid-step, and turned back around. “How exhausted are you exactly?” she asked carefully. “Just mentally?”

“Oh, let me guess,” Neal said wryly. “You have a follow-up about ‘Sexy Cubicle Worker’?”

Emma grinned. “I might.”

“All right, uh…” Neal glanced around for inspiration, then leaned toward her ear and whispered in his mock-sultry voice, “ _Paperwork. Answering phones. Coffee breaks._ ”

Emma’s smile faded. “Shit,” she said in awe. “I have weird turn-ons, because that totally worked.”

“You seriously do,” Neal sighed, straightening back. “But it could be worse. You should have _seen_ some of the stuff Hook cleaned out of the apartment.”

Emma made a face, looking intrigued nonetheless. “Eww, _what?_ ”

“Oh, no,” Neal said, shaking his head. “I won’t burden you with the knowledge. It’s too late for me, but I can still save you. Just know that, I judge him for it.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Ruby, wake up.”

Ruby frowned, shrugging away from the hand that tried to shake her awake. “Go away, I’m busy,” she mumbled.

“Come on,” Hook wheedled, trying to pull her up. “Time to go home.”

“No, I’m tired,” she complained, turning away from him. “Go ’way.”

Hook dropped her arm and exhaled through his teeth.“Ruby, this is getting significantly less cute,” he said testily. “Let’s go.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” she protested as he dragged her to her feet. Hook let out  a frustrated breath, and threw her arm around his shoulder to keep her upright.

“Ruby, so help me God…” he muttered. 

“Too tired to walk,” she mumbled sleepily. “It’s okay, I’ll just sleep here.”

“Regina is not going to let you sleep on her couch, darling. Come on now, walk.”

Ruby cracked her eyes open and turned her head, considering the walk to the door. Ugh…so far away. And there were people all crowded around it, that meant extra time standing and waiting. 

_Ugh…_

“Ruby, work with me here,” Hook said impatiently. 

“I’m just going to let you carry me,” she decided.

“No, don’t go boneless—Ruby, come on!” he snapped as she went limp, forcing him to hold her up as her head lolled back. She closed her eyes, ignoring his efforts to push her to a stand.

“Too tired,” she repeated. 

“Too tired to walk five feet to the door.”

Ruby opened one eye, smiling lazily at him. “Much too tired.”

“Hmm.” Hook nodded slowly, as if deeply considering her words, then cleared his throat. “Ruby, will you marry me?”

Ruby’s eyes snapped open. “ _WHAT?_ ”

“Oh, good, you’re up,” he said cheerfully. “Think you can walk now?”

Ruby stared at him in horror, her heart thudding hard enough to punch a hole in her chest. “You weren't serious, were you?” she said.

Hook snorted. “Don’t be stupid, of course n—oi!” He rubbed his arm where she hit him, looking amused nonetheless. “Someone’s feisty today.”

“You’re an asshat,” she glowered. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“‘ _Asshat’…”_ Hook smiled fondly. “I’ve missed that word.” 

Ruby took a minute to balance herself on her heels, still feeling the effects of the drinks she’d indulged in earlier. 

“Good thing Neal is driving,” Hook remarked, watching her stumble a little.

“Do _not_ sass me right now,” she warned. “That was a really shitty thing you just did.”

“What, waking you up?”

“That is _not_ how you wake people up,” Ruby glared. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Funny you should ask that,” Hook said brightly, pointing at her. “Because I actually made an appointment with Dr. Hopper later this week to find out. There, now—aren’t you proud of me?”

Without waiting for an answer, he pressed a kiss to her cheek and added, “I’m going to get the coats.”

“You’re an asshat,” she called after him. 

“I know!”

“ _Asshat!”_

 _“I heard you!”_ he sang back. 

Ruby rolled her eyes, fluffing out her hair. _Fucking moron,_ she thought witheringly. Only Hook would think a random proposal was a reasonable way to wake someone up. He really was an asshat.

“Hey, Ruby, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Ruby turned around, surprised to see Emma standing behind her. _Oh, shit,_ she thought, the phrase “ _lingered and hmphed”_ echoing in her head. She had an idea what this was about. “Look, Emma,” she began nervously. “I swear to God, I wasn't hitting on Neal, I was just—“

“Yeah, whatever,” Emma said impatiently, waving her words away. “I need you to do me a favor.”

Ruby raised a wary eyebrow. “Okay, go for it.”

“Great. So—“ Emma swung her hands, clapping them together—“here’s the thing. I need you to keep Hook at your place, because _I needs the apartment tonight,_ okay?”

“I don’t _think_ so,” Ruby scoffed. “Do you know what he just—?”

“Oh, wow, I so don’t care,” Emma said loudly. “Look, I don’t want the details, I just want you to take him.”

“Wha—? No!” Ruby sputtered. “No, I can’t! I won’t!”

“Ruby, come on—“

“ _No._ After the shit he just pulled, there is _no way in hell_ I’m going to reward him—“

“I didn't say ‘ _have sex with him’,_ I said ‘ _keep him’!_ I don’t care what you do or don’t do—nor do I want to know, thank you. Just keep. Him. Out. Okay?”

“He’s not my problem tonight,” Ruby insisted, folding her arms. “He scared the living hell out of me—“

“Oh, my God, are you _seriously_ still mad about that?” Hook’s voice exclaimed behind her. “Bloody hell, Ruby! Build a bridge and get over it!”

“Get over it?” she repeated incredulously, whirling around. _“Get over it?_ You think a person can just _get over_ something like that?”

“I said, I was kidding,” Hook said, nonplussed. 

“Yeah, but who can tell with you?” Ruby said wildly, throwing her hands up. “I mean, goddamn! Why would you do that to me? Why would you scare me like that? Do you hate me? Is that what it is, do you _hate_ me?”

“Of course I don’t hate you, I bloody love—hang on, hang on!” he said hastily as her eyes widened and she pointed accusingly at him. “That’s not what I meant, that’s not what I was going to say! Goddamn it, Emma, get out of here, this all your fault!”

“Wha— _me?_ ” Emma squeaked, pointing to herself. “All I did was tell Ruby to take you tonight, I haven't said a word to you!”

“You’re putting me off!” Hook retorted. “Go away, you’re making things weird!”

“No, _you’re_ making things weird!” Ruby snapped, hitting him in the shoulder. “Stop saying dumb shit, you’re freaking everybody out!”

“It’s Emma’s fault!”

“It most certainly is _not!_ ” Emma said indignantly. “Look, I don’t know what’s up with you two idiots, but I’m just an innocent bystander! You two deal with each other however you want—just let me spend one night with Neal without this moron having night terrors in the other room!”

She stalked off, throwing them a threatening look over her shoulder. Ruby brushed her off: she wasn't scared of Emma—Hook, yes; Emma, no. She whirled back around, glaring at him so fiercely, he flinched. 

“What is _wrong_ with you?”

“I honestly think you’re making too much of this—“

“ _I am not making too much of this!”_

“Okay, fine, you’re not making too much of it! Would it help if I said I was sorry?”

“No, it wouldn't help if you said were sorry! _It’s in my head now!”_ she hissed, tapping her finger rapidly against her temple. “It’s in my head and it’s freaking me out!”

“Damn it, Ruby!” Hook said exasperatedly. “I was _joking!_ You know, maybe I’m not the only one who needs to see Dr. Hopper! Because if a meaningless little joke like that scares you so much, _you’ve got commitment issues!_ Ha!” he added, looking very satisfied with himself. 

“Fine, whatever, I’ve got commitment issues—who the fuck cares?” Ruby snapped, throwing arms up. “Although, I think it’s a bit rich, coming from the guy who slept with a different girl every night for two centuries!”

“First of all,” Hook frowned, counting off on his fingers, “what happens in Neverland, _stays_ in Neverland, so I’m not even going to comment on that accusation. Second, I was on a two-hundred-year long revenge quest, so if anyone can handle commitment, _it’s me._ Third, why are we even arguing about this? _It. Was. A. Joke!”_

Ruby clenched her hands into fists. “That wasn't a joke, you were about to say something really stupid—“

“Ruby, don’t be daft! I wasn't _actually_ proposing to you—“

“Wasn’t _what?!_ ”

“ _Shit,_ ” he muttered, hearing Granny’s horrified sputters. She pushed roughly in between them, her wide eyes darting from side to side, her jaw quivering in fear.

“Wh-wh-what the hell is going on?” she choked. “Oh, God, Ruby, please tell me you didn't do anything stupid—“

“Just me,” Hook snarked, his eyes flashing with loathing at the old woman.

“You just insulted yourself, dumbass,” Ruby said witheringly. “Granny, get out of here, I can handle this.”

“Ruby…honey…” Granny gripped her arms pleadingly. “Look, I know you’re an adult and you can make your own decisions, but _please,_ don’t let that manwhore talk you into anything—“

“It was a bloody joke!” Hook shouted. “I was trying to wake her up!”

“Not _that!”_ Ruby cried. “The _other_ thing! I know the first one was a joke— _it better be a goddamn joke—_ “

“It _was_ a goddamn joke!”

“—fucking stupid joke—“

“Yes, I realize that now!”

“—I’m talking about the other thing! The thing you almost said, and it would have been _really fucking stupid_ if you finished that sentence—“

“ _What_ sentence?” Granny asked in a panicked voice. “Ruby, please don’t go off and sail on the high seas or whatever!”

“Granny, go away, that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“I most certainly will _not_ go away!” Granny insisted, stamping her foot. “Is he scaring you? Did he threaten you? I’ll kill him! I’ll take my crossbow, and I’ll aim it right up—“

“ _No,_ ” Ruby said loudly, raising her voice over Granny’s. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing like that—and I can take care of myself, so you don’t have to be here. I’m dealing with it.”

“Ruby…” Granny knit her brow, looking up at her concernedly. “I know you _can_ take care of yourself. That doesn't mean you have to.”

“Wha…?” Ruby blinked at her; then gave her head a little shake. “Granny, why are you suddenly talking all nice to me now? You’re freaking me out, too.”

Granny grimaced at Hook over her shoulder before gently pulling Ruby to the side, to give them the illusion of privacy. “Ruby,” she said carefully. “Look…I know we had a falling-out because you think I’m too controlling, and I think you’re out of control, and we just… we get on each other’s last nerve. But I’m still _worried_ about you, hon.”

“Granny…” Ruby groaned, tilting her head back. “Come on, I don't want to have a moment. Not _now._ I’m in the middle of something here. Something that you’re not involved in, so if you could just—“

“You’re right, I’m not involved in it,” Granny said, raising her hands in surrender. “But I’m not trying to get into your business or anything. All I know is, you’re upset, you look scared, and my instinct is to protect you. That’s not just a wolf thing—that’s a grandma thing.”

Ruby shifted on her feet. It always made her nervous when Granny acted like this: usually, it only came about when something bad happened. It was probably just the effects of classic conditioning, but that didn't stop her heart from drumming anxiously in her chest. “I’m not moving back,” she said finally. “If this is an attempt to get me to move back in, I’m not going to.”

“It’s not,” Granny said, shaking her head. “Doesn’t mean we have to keep fighting, though. Especially on Christmas.”

Ruby folded her arms and dropped her eyes, twisting the toe of her shoe into the ground as she thought. The truth was, she _did_ miss Granny. They’d been together her entire life: it was a broken, tiny, tense little family, but it was _their_ family. She would rather swallow a handful of nails than admit it, but knowing that Granny was still looking out for her, even now, spread a soothing warmth through her. 

“Well—“ she cleared her throat—“that’s…that’s true.  I guess. I mean…yeah.” She lifted her head, giving Granny a small nod. “So, we’re good. I mean, if you’re good, I’m good. So—you’re good, right?”

“I’m good,” Granny shrugged.

“Okay.” Ruby twitched an awkward smile at her. “Okay, so…I don’t know. Maybe I could stay in my old room tonight. We could spend Christmas morning together, like we do.”

Granny raised her eyebrows. “You want to unwrap presents at five in the morning, so we can open the diner by six?” she said disbelievingly.

“People still gotta eat, don’t they?” Ruby grinned, giving her shoulders a little shrug. “Besides—it just wouldn't be Christmas if I wasn't completely exhausted and miserable.”

Granny smiled, and patted the top of her head in the way that only Granny was allowed to do. “I’ll go start the car. I’m driving,” she added, giving her a stern look. “I counted how many drinks you had tonight—“

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Ruby warned her. “No lectures.”

“—and I heard some rumors about some other stuff that I didn't need to know about that I _hope to God_ were only rumors—“

“Granny!” Ruby said loudly. “Moment is in danger of being ruined! Just go start the car, I’ll be right out.”

Granny held up her hands in surrender, and stepped away, making sure to give Hook a smug look as she passed him. Hook flicked his eyes away disdainfully, as if he couldn't be bothered to even glance at his arch nemesis. Ruby drew in a deep breath as she walked back to him, feeling around in her purse for her key.

“Here,” she said, bringing it out. “Stay at my place tonight, so Emma and Neal can have some time together.”

Hook raised his eyebrows as she dropped it in his hand. “Not coming, I take it?”

“Nope,” she said in a clipped voice. “I’m staying at Granny’s tonight.”

“ _Granny’s?_ ” he repeated. “Are you that angry with me?”

“I’m not angry,” she frowned. “I just don’t want to be around you right now.”

“Ruby—“ Hook closed his eyes impatiently—“I wasn't being serious. I say stupid shit sometimes. I’m _sorry.”_

 _“_ Okay, fine, you’re sorry,” Ruby shrugged. “But you still threw it out there, and it still freaks me out, and I still don’t want to be around you right now.”

“Why _not_?” Hook said, practically crying with frustration. “What is the _big deal_? I didn't even say anything that bad!”

“You almost did,” she reminded him. “And that little stunt you pulled earlier—“

“I was just trying to wake you up! And it worked, didn't it? You’ve been bitching at me nonstop since!”

Ruby glowered at him, and snatched her coat from him. “Do me a favor, okay? Avoid me for a few days.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“No, I mean it,” she said, yanking her coat on. “Avoid me, or I might say some things you’ll regret.”

“Fine,” Hook said icily. “Here, before you go—“ he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box—“take your present.”

Ruby caught it with one hand, and used her thumb to crack it open. She peered in suspiciously, holding it a safe distance away. Just a simple little necklace, nothing special—some random little pendant, like a swirly-circle-thingy-whatever.

“I figured everybody either gives you wolf stuff or red stuff, so you must be getting sick of it,” he explained flatly. “So I just looked for something I thought you’d like and picked that up.”

Ruby shrugged and snapped the box closed. “Thanks,” she said, dropping it in her coat pocket. “Yours is on my dresser somewhere. You can open it when you get in.”

“I’ll open it tomorrow,” he said coolly.

“Open it whenever you want,” she scoffed. “I literally don’t care.”

Hook smiled bitterly. “Clearly.”

 _Drama queen._ Everything had to be a production around him: first, he had to get all not-really-jealous-but-totally-jealous because she said Neal was hot; then, he had to find the _stupidest_ way to wake her up and made the whole thing spiral into a huge argument; and now, he was acting like she’d betrayed him because she needed some breathing space. Did she have commitment issues? Maybe—but that was _her_ problem, not his; and if he was going to be a bitch about it, that only made her want to put even _more_ space between them. 

“Have fun figuring out all your shit with Dr. Hopper,” Ruby said shortly. “Keep me updated, in case he finds out what’s wrong with you.”

“You, too,” Hook returned. “Maybe he can figure out what’s wrong with _you._ ”

“ _Oh….”_ a hushed chorus of voices breathed from behind her. Hook’s eyes darted over her head, and frowned, his mouth falling open indignantly.

“Oh. My. God. Are you _serious?_ ”

Ruby turned around to see everybody—Emma, Neal, Belle, Rumple, Snow, David, Regina, Robin, Henry, and Tink—poking their heads curiously out of the kitchen door.

“Have you lot been listening the whole time?” Hook said incredulously.

They all exchanged startled looks, and there was a general mumbling of “Whoops! Look at time, I have to go!” and “I gotta go check on a thing…”, bumping into each other as they retreated back into the kitchen.

“This was supposed to be a _private_ conversation, thanks!” Hook yelled after them. “Goddamn it! What _is_ it with this family? You can’t ever get a moment alone!”

“Maybe we should resurrect the Hook-and-Ruby pool…” she heard Henry say thoughtfully, before everyone shushed him. Ruby frowned, turning back to Hook.

“What’s the Hook-and-Ruby pool?”

“Who the hell knows, they’re fucking weird,” Hook grimaced, superfluously adjusting his hook. “I guess you’ll be on your way, then.”

“Guess I will be,” Ruby said frostily, and pushed past him. “Merry fucking Christmas, asshole.”

 

 

 

 


	62. Chapter 62

Christmas was, to paraphrase Charles Dickens (as all educated people did at one point or another) the best of times and the worst of times. 

It was the best of times because it was Christmas and he’d gotten that video game he’d been waiting for (that army of undead elves was going to be _annihilated)_ ; and it was the best of times because for once, they were all sitting around Rumple’s family room, enjoying Christmas breakfast— _without_ any petty arguments. It was actually pleasant: there was laughing, good-natured mocking, everyone wearing the new sweaters and jewelry and slippers everyone else had gotten them…Best of times, indeed

But it was also the worst of times. His parents were in an unreasonably good mood, and Henry was well past the age of blissful ignorance: he knew _exactly_ what that good mood meant, and oh, dear God in Heaven, knowledge was a burden. 

Times only got worse when Hook showed up, looking thoroughly miserable and extremely Ruby-less. 

“Morning, all,” he grumbled, shuffling inside.

There was a chorus of cheerful voices overlapping with, “Hi, Hook” and “Hey, slut!” as he walked across the room to pour himself a cup of coffee. 

“ _Good_ morning, Captain!” Rumple beamed. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

Hook glowered at Rumple over his cup. “Shut up, crocodile.”

“And a merry Christmas to you, too,” Rumple returned sweetly. Hook rolled his eyes, stepping over Rumple’s outstretched legs to take a seat next to Belle on the couch. Belle speared a piece of toast on his hook, and offered him a bright smile.

“Merry Christmas, buddy,” she said. “I like your little tie, there.”

“Do you?” Hook grimaced. Henry leaned forward, raising his eyebrows dubiously. It was actually a really stupid-looking tie, decorated with all sorts of pirate crap: curved swords, anchors, and the like. Really stupid, and really cheap—the kind of thing a person with bad taste and a waitress’s salary would buy. 

“Ruby’s present, I’m guessing?” Henry smirked.

“Yep,” Hook exhaled, and morosely twirled the end of the tie around his finger. “She was going to untie it with her teeth—“

“Oh, _God,_ don’t!” everyone  groaned, clattering down their plates and silverware. Belle scooted a little further down the couch, while Henry drew his knees up protectively and shrank back in the armchair. Hook didn't seem to notice, still regretfully sighing over all the slutty things he would have been doing with Ruby, had she not been so mad at him.

“…probably would have done that little nibbly thing right here, under my ear—“

“Here, have a biscuit,” Belle said, generously shoving a cookie in his mouth. “So, is everyone enjoying their Christmas?”

“Not particularly,” Regina said sourly. “My head is _killing_ me.”

“Do you want me to get you an aspirin?” Robin offered. Regina closed her eyes.

“ _No,_ ” she said through clenched teeth. “If I wanted an aspirin, I’d get my own damn aspirin. I’m not a china doll, Robin. I can handle it.”

“I was only trying to—“

“Well, _stop_ trying to.”

Henry raised his eyebrows, seeing Robin exchange a significant look with Neal. Was there some kind of whispered alliance between his father and stepfather now? Or was that just a “guy thing” he had yet to be part of?

“…does this thing with her tongue,” Hook was saying, oblivious to his surroundings. “She kind of swirls it around and around, and then she’ll—“

“Dude, I’m eating here,” Neal complained, dropping his bagel. “Could you not?”

“—runs her nails down, and then if she’s feeling particularly feisty—“

“Hey, Henry,” Rumple said loudly. “Why don’t you come help me with something in the kitchen?”

“Sounds good,” Henry said instantly, jumping off his chair. He honestly didn't care what it was, he just wanted to put as much distance between himself and Hook as possible. His mere presence made Henry physically ill; and as much as he delighted in Hook’s suffering, he didn't want to be there to witness it—just in case the slutty reminiscing extended to include the man-tears Hook had been known to shed unashamedly. 

He missed exactly what Hook said, but there was another round of, “ _Hook,_ shut up!” before the door swung closed behind him. Henry shuddered, and walked over to the table, swiping out a chair with his foot. 

“What’s up, Grandpa?” he asked as Rumple settled into the seat across from him. “Is there something I’m actually helping you with, or was that just a way to protect my young, impressionable ears from tales of Hook’s sexcapades?”

“Both,” Rumple said. “Actually, I’ve got a little job for you, Henry.”

Henry raised his eyebrows. “Okay?”

“You remember last night, how I was telling you about True Love magic and holding the portal open?” 

 _Goddamn it, this again?_ “Sure,” Henry said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “It was very interesting, all that…stuff you told me about.”

Rumple smiled, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “I thought of something last night,” he said. “ _Talismans._ ”

“Oh, right, yeah. Talismans. Cool.” Henry nodded slowly. “So…what about talismans?”

“You remember when we went to New York to find your father?” Rumple said (pointless question, because how could he forget?). “I had that shawl to help me keep my memories intact, the one that belonged to Bae? Well, it was charged with True Love—“

Henry closed his eyes at the phrase _True Love._

“—which is, as you know, the most powerful form of magic that we know of. So, I figured, if my talisman was powerful enough to help me cross between the magic realm of the town into the non-magic world, I should be able to use a True Love talisman on the well—“

“Grandpa, this is super awesome and everything, but I—”

“I need you to steal your mother’s swan pendant,” Rumple said flatly. 

Henry blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Swan pendant. Steal it.” Rumple clicked his teeth. “It’s not a difficult concept to grasp, lad.”

“No, I understood what you said, I’m just…” Henry shook his head. “You want me to steal a rusty old keychain?”

“I suppose you could also try your grandparents’ ring,” Rumple mused. “Although, I’d really prefer you didn’t, Henry, it’s just too nice to throw down a well. The keychain, on the other hand…I mean, it’s worth, what, fifty cents?”

“But Mom’s had that necklace for, like, ever,” Henry frowned. “She’s not going to let me toss it down the well, even if it _is_ to open Lake Nostos. It’s from their Bonnie-and-Clyde days, she _loves_ that necklace.”

“Yeah, that’s the whole point,” Rumple said impatiently. “It’s your parents’ talisman, a symbol of their True Love—“

“Eww, Grandpa, don’t talk to me about my parents’ True Love,” Henry complained. 

“—and if my theory is right, it should be strong enough to let Lake Nostos through, and then we’re in business,” Rumple finished, slapping the table. “I just need you to snitch the necklace from your skank mother.”

“Dude…”

“From your mother,” Rumple amended.

Henry sighed. “How the hell am I supposed to steal it when she never takes the damn thing off?”

“Look at your genes,” Rumple scoffed. “If anyone can figure out how to steal something, it’s you. And you snitched all that stuff from Regina’s vault the first time around, didn't you?”

“Yeah, but—“

“But nothing,” Rumple said firmly. “You’ll steal the pendant, bring it to me, and then we’re going to resurrect that bitch, Cora.”

“I’m pretty sure I need her ashes or something,” Henry said. “I’m not going through all the trouble of stealing the necklace, just so I can toss it down the well for nothing.”

“Leave that to me,” Rumple assured him. “I know where Cora’s buried, I’ll take care of it.”

Henry recoiled. “You’re going to go through her grave? That’s nasty.”

“Henry.” Rumple sounded as though he was struggling to keep his patience. “Necromancy is some of the darkest magic there is. Nastiness is a necessary evil.”

 _Darkest magic there is?_ Henry’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, so this whole time, I’ve been using dark magic? That’s what you guys have been trying to teach me? Dark magic?”

“Come on, Henry!” Rumple said exasperatedly. “Look at you! You are the most cynical, misanthropic, antisocial little bastard I ever met! Which I greatly admire,” he added quickly. “But are you really surprised that your magic is dark?”

“Honestly?” Henry scratched the back of his head. He was from a family of heroes, wasn't he? Snow and David had been considered to be two of the greatest heroes, back in the day; Emma was the Savior, a strong wielder of light magic (had she bothered to learn). And Henry…he had that Heart-of-the-Truest-Believer thing going, didn't he?

But that was only one half of his family. On his father’s side…let’s see, he had Rumplestiltskin, the _Dark One._ And seeing as Regina and Neal were half-siblings, that mean he was also blood-related to the Evil Queen who’d raised him. And a bit further back, there was Peter Pan, who’d turned out to be the craziest son of a bitch with magic he’d ever met.

If Henry was being really honest with himself, he also had to admit that the wide-eyed innocent boy he’d been once was now little more than an unpleasant memory. Neverland had changed him. He’d had a lot of time to think, trapped in that jungle with a bunch of evil, boy-band-rejects. A lot of disillusionment, a lot of self-realization, a lot of bitterness as he’d mulled over his life in his head. By the time he’d been rescued, the cynicism had already spread fatally, and that Truest-Believer thing had seemed to lose its punch. 

“You’ve got a natural gift for necromancy,” Rumple said wonderingly. “How the hell can you be surprised that your magic is dark?”

“I just assumed…” Henry looked at him in awe. “I thought I was going to be stuck with the Heart of the Truest Believer my whole life.”

“Henry, that bullshit died in Neverland,” Rumple scoffed. “How could a kid with cynicism running through his veins still be the Truest Believer? You’d be a walking paradox.”

Henry was mildly disturbed by the rush of relief that flooded his chest. You weren't supposed to feel relieved to find out you had dark magic; nor were you supposed to be relieved when you found out you’d lost your (lame) title of light magic.

“This is weird,” he said finally. “I honestly thought I was going to be the kid with the storybook my whole life. Now, I’m like Henry Mills: the Badass Necromancer.”

“Well, before all that, I need you to be Henry Mills: the Keychain Thief,” Rumple said flatly. “You up for it, or not?”

“I’m up for it,” Henry shrugged. 

 

* * *

 

“Darling, could I get another round of coffee here for me and my lovely wifey?”

“Sure.” Ruby leaned over the counter and tilted the carafe to pour two streams of coffee into Ursula’s and Cruella’s mugs. “Merry Christmas, guys—we’ve got peppermint creamer today.”

“That sounds positively revolting, darling,” Cruella said silkily. “What say we make this coffee Irish?”

“Too early to serve alcohol,” Ruby said, pointing to the sign over the bar.

“Well, it doesn't have to be _official,_ per se,” Cruella said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile. “Get your boyfriend, he’s always got a little flask of something interesting on him.”

Ruby set her jaw. “He’s not here right now,” she said. “You’re just going to have to content yourself with regular coffee.”

“Not here right now?” Ursula snorted. “Normally, you two are attached by the tongue—“

“Darling, please,” Cruella muttered queasily.

“—what happened?” 

“Nothing happened,” Ruby said tensely, whipping out a rag to clean the stains on the counter. “He’s just not here.”

“Who’s not here?” 

“Tink—“ Ruby closed her eyes, clenching her fist in the rag—“please, not now.”

“Tink!” Ursula and Cruella called out delightedly, adoring smiles on their faces as they hugged the slutty little fairy between them. Tink looked rather bored by their affections, but she graced them with a, “Merry Christmas, bitches”, before turning back to Ruby.

“Who’s not here?”

“Captain Hack Sparrow,” Ursula said wryly. 

“ _Oh…_ ” Tink grinned devilishly. “Shit, man. I thought you guys faked a fight so you could have crazy make-up sex.”

“ _What_ fight?” Cruella asked in a hushed voice. “Did people throw plates? Did I miss plate-throwing?”

“It was just a bunch of shouting,” Tink said, shaking her head. “Don’t get excited. Honestly, it was more loud than interesting.”

“Hey, Tink, why don’t you take your coffee back to your table, okay?” Ruby said, shoving a cup at her. Tink lifted her hands to avoid the coffee sloshing over the sides, but seemed otherwise unoffended.

“Fine by me,” she said, picking up her cup. “You bitches want to come with me?”

“Yes!” Cruella beamed. “You’re infinitely more interesting that Ruby, darling! Ursula, gather your things, we’re going on adventures with this delightful little creature.”

“Just…to the other side of the diner,” Tink said, giving her a strange look. “I wouldn't call it ‘adventures’, so much as ‘breakfast’, but whatever.”

Cruella and Ursula hopped over their stools, steering Tink between them as they strode to her table. Ruby watched them go without regret: she didn't really need Tink dredging up the unpleasant and embarrassing memories of last night.

“Is it true?”

Ruby jumped as Ashley slammed her hands down on the counter, looking at her with wide eyes. “ _Ashley,_ ” she swore, putting a hand to her heart as she caught her breath. “What’s wrong with you? You scared the _shit_ out of me.”

“I heard you and Hook had a _huge_ fight,” Ashley said, her eyes gleaming at the prospect of gossip. “What happened? Did you guys break up?”

“No, Ash, we didn't break up,” Ruby said through gritted teeth. “We just had a fight.”

“Over what?” she said in a hushed tone. “I heard it got pretty intense.”

“And where did you hear that?” Ruby asked irritably. 

“A little bird told me,” Ashley shrugged. “I was cleaning off a table, I got to talking with one of the customers.”

“I bet I can guess which one.” Ruby glowered across the diner at Tink, who was flipping through a steamy magazine while Ursula and Cruella chattered on. The little showdown with Hook had erupted only after most of the guests had left, so Ashley could only have been told by someone who was there. Tink and Belle were the most likely culprits, but since Belle and Ashley barely talked and Tink talked to anybody who would stand still long enough to listen, she was going to put her money on Tink.

“So?” Ashley prodded impatiently. “What happened? Are you through? Are you on a break? Are you not talking? What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, Ashley—

“What were you fighting about? Oh my God—“ Ashley’s eyes grew wide, and she covered her hand over her mouth. “Did he cheat on you? Is that what happened? Did that swashbuckling bastard _cheat_ on you?”

“No, he didn’t—why would you say something like that?”

“Did _you_ cheat on _him?_ Is that what happened?”

“No! No one cheated! Damn it, Ashley, why do you have to—?”

“Are you sure? Because he’s really slutty, Ruby—“

“I’m sure, I’m very sure.”

“Then what _happened?_ ” Ashley pressed. “Come on, Ruby just tell me, _please?”_

 _“_ He just…he said something.” Ruby frowned at the counter, kneading her knuckles against the rag as she wiped it. “It freaked me out.”

Ashley wrinkled her nose. “Like kinky stuff?” 

“No, it was…” Ruby shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Oh, but now you _have_ to,” Ashley insisted. “Come on, don’t be a tease about it.”

“Just…” Ruby made a face, pushing the rag around the counter. “You know, things that people say when they’ve been in a relationship for a while that might freak a person out if it’s still really early in a relationship? Like, words that imply certain things that some people might need be comfortable with because of reasons?”

Ashley crinkled her brow. “What?”

“He almost said something that…” Ruby shuddered. “Ugh. I don’t want to think about it, I just don’t want to think about it. It gets me all—“

“Wait.” Ashley’s hand shot out, and she gripped Ruby’s wrist, looking at her with wide eyes. “Did he say… _it?_ ”

Ruby frowned at her. “Ash, this is starting to feel like a bad Jennifer Anniston movie.” She carefully pried her hand away, dropping it unceremoniously. “I’m going to go make sure Tony’s not  dropping Bandaids in the pancake batter, okay? I’ll see you later.”

She brushed roughly past her, sidestepping as Ariel burst out of the kitchen with a tray in her hands. Ariel was a more recent hire, but she was already proving to be a good worker. Which actually worked out very well for Ruby, because now she didn't have to feel guilty about leaving her job at the diner now, and accepting that bartender position Jefferson had mentioned yesterday.

Granny smiled at her as they passed each other in the steam-filled kitchen, where beating whisks and crackling oil came together in a delightfully clingy harmony, the kind that just said “home” to Ruby. 

“Merry Christmas, kiddo,” Granny winked. “Watch Tony.”

“I’m on it,” Ruby nodded, and made her way through the cluttered space to the back, where an old, droopy-eyed, heavyset man stood, dully staring at the steadily burning pancakes. Ruby leaned over the bowl to make sure there wasn't anything gross floating in there, and hopped on the counter, dangling her feet. 

“Can I ask you something, Tony?” she asked, watching as Tony contemplated flipping the pancakes (he didn’t). “What do you think it means, when a guy starts to say ‘I love you’, and your reaction is to fly into a panic and start screaming at him?”

Tony slowly lifted his head. He blinked.

“I know,” Ruby sighed, dropping her head. “I went completely insane. But I didn't mean to, it was just—it just _happened,_ you know? And I _so_ wasn't expecting it that moment, I got scared. Do you think it’s weird that I got scared, though? Aren't you supposed to be excited when you get to that part of a relationship?”

Tony blinked again, holding the spatula loosely in his hand. The pancakes blackened beside him.

“I _know_ ,” Ruby wailed. “But it’s been such an on/off thing between us, I was only just now starting to get used to us. And it seems way too fast to start bringing that stuff in, doesn't it? I mean, we barely know each other! I don’t know anything about his past, further back than when he first came to Storybrooke! I haven't even told him about _Peter!_ It still feels like such a shallow relationship, how can he possibly be bringing _I love you_ ’s in? It’s too soon, isn't it?”

Tony stared at her with his droopy eyes.

“ _Thank you,”_ Ruby said, leaning back in relief. “I _knew_ it was too soon. Ashley was irritating the shit out of me, she kept asking me if one of us cheated. And I was like, ‘No’; so then she was like, ‘Then what happened?’ And I’m like, ‘Well, he said stuff’, and she was like, ‘Eww, kinky stuff?’ and I’m like, ‘No’. So she kept asking and asking, until finally she was like, ‘Oh, my God, did he say _it?_ ’ And I’m just like, ‘Bitch, this isn't a Jennifer Anniston movie’. I mean, come on, Tony, she’s a fucking moron! I’m wasting my time and energy to talking to a fucking moron, right?”

Tony blinked.

“ _Right!_ God, I always _knew_ Ashley was a moron. And a gossip, too—like, you should have seen her, her eyes were bugging out of her head! She’s probably going to tell everyone now, you know?But you want to know something else, Tony? I don’t care. I don’t care if she tells everyone. I’ve got bigger problems. Like randomly freaking out, I still don’t know what that’s about. I mean, it was a dumb, thoughtless thing for him to do, because it’s way too early and it came out of _nowhere,_ but I don’t know how much that warrants a screaming match. But the guy gave me a panic attack! Maybe something he said triggered something else, and I just flipped out because of whatever it was, but I wouldn't know that, would I? We never _real-talk,_ we never talk about actual problems. Maybe there’s something really wrong with me, but I don’t know about it because I’m too focused on stuff that doesn't even matter. How sick is _that?_ ”

Tony scratched his nose.

“Or what if I _know_ something’s wrong with me, but I’m just using Hook to distract myself from facing it? What if I’m just avoiding my problems by making up new problems with him? What if I’m actually a lot deeper than I thought, and I’m purposefully trying to be shallow so I don’t have to face the hurt?”

Tony stared at her, glassy-eyed.

“You’re right,” Ruby sighed. “I should talk to him about this. Thanks, Tony, you’re such a good listener.”

 

* * *

 

“I don’t really know how this works, Dr. Hopper.”

“It’s nothing to stress over,” Archie said as he scribbled the date in the corner. He propped his clipboard against his knee and leaned back in his seat, studying the patient.“Why don’t we start off with you telling me something about your mother?”

“My mother?” Hook repeated, knitting his brow worriedly. “Like what?”

“Let’s see…” Archie consulted his notes. “The other day, you mentioned that she was normally very distant with you…was extremely critical when she _did_ pay attention to you…openly favored your brother, Liam—“

“Liam,” Hook growled, kneading his fist into the armrest. Archie raised his eyebrows.

“Seems we’ve struck a nerve,” he observed. “Tell me about Liam.”

Hook gave an exasperated little shrug. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything,” Archie said, nonplussed. “Was he younger, was he older…”

“Older,” Hook said, somewhat impatiently. “I’m sorry, but how is this supposed to help?”

“I’m trying to build a picture of your home life,” Archie explained. “Children are shaped by the environment they grow up, and they can develop maladaptive behaviors because of them. The root of your problems almost certainly rests in your early childhood.”

“Oh…” Hook started to nod slowly, then shook his head. “No idea what you just said.”

“Just go on about Liam,” Archie said. “He was older than you, you said?”

“Seven years.”

“Mmm-hmm…” Archie scribbled on his notepad. “And how did you see your brother? Did you two get along?”

“Oh, I loved my brother,” Hook shrugged. “I mean, I didn't understand why Mum liked him so much more than me, but I didn't have anything against Liam. He was a better father to me than any of the uncles.”

Archie frowned. “What do you mean by, _the uncles?”_

“The guys. Mum had a string of on-again/off-again boyfriends that would traipse through the house all the time.” Hook picked at a loose thread on his jacket, seemingly unconcerned. “I called them ‘the uncles’, because Mum always introduced them as ‘Uncle Jack’ or ‘Uncle Eddie’ or something.”

Archie frowned deeper, and scribbled more on his notepad. “Tell me more about the uncles,” he said, looking at Hook curiously. “What did they do?”

“Meh—“ Hook dropped the thread—“nothing much. I barely said anything more than ‘hello’ to them. They just came through the door, followed Mum upstairs, and that was it. Always left money for groceries, though.” Hook smiled, shaking his head reminiscently. “Nice guys.”

Archie cocked his head. “What do you mean, _they left money for groceries_?” he asked. In his mind’s eye, he could see a drunken-sailor-type slouching through a small house and tossing a handful of coins on the table, giving a nod to a small boy playing peacefully in the other room before walking out the door—another _satisfied_ customer.

“They left money,” Hook frowned. “What? What’s the big deal?”

Archie stared at him. Was it possible that after two hundred some years, he hadn't figured it out? “The uncles left money after they went upstairs with your mother?”

“Yeah, I don’t—“ Hook gave his head a bemused shake. “What?”

“I just want you to think about that,” Archie said carefully. “These men…they weren't really your uncles, were they?”

“No, they were Mum’s friends.”

“Right, okay. Um…did you ever see any of them more than once?”

“Yeah. Well—actually, hang on…” Hook looked at the ceiling, squinting with the effort of remembering. “I might have seen a few more than once, but most of them…not really. No.”

Archie nodded slowly. “And your father?” he asked, fairly confident he already knew the answer.

“What about him?” Hook said bewilderedly. “I told you, it was just me, Mum, and Liam. I don’t even know who my father _was._ Liam’s father died in the navy, and mine was just a deadbeat. It was only ever the three of us, and the uncles.”

“So, you had a single mother, supporting herself and two children,” Archie said, eyeing him carefully over his glasses. “How did your mother make a living?”

“She worked at the…” Hook frowned, and scratched the back of his head. “Actually, she…she kinda just stayed home a lot.”

“Spent a lot of time upstairs with the uncles?”

“Yeah…” Hook slowly lowered his hand, looking up at Archie. He was on the verge of realization, clearly resisting.

“Who weren't really your uncles, were they?”

“No…”

“Who were they?”

“Clients…”

“Because what did your mother do for a living?”

Hook looked faintly green. “Prostitution,” he whispered.

Archie sat back in his seat with a sigh, watching Hook come to terms with the new realization. 

“Oh. My. God.” Hook stared at him with wide eyes. “Mum was a whore.”

Archie hesitated. “Yes.”

“She had sex for money.”

“Yes.”

“She was a _whore._ ”

“We discussed that.”

Hook’s eyes widened even more. “Oh, _shit,_ ” he breathed, standing up. “Oh, _shit,_ shit, _shit…_ Oh, my God…Oh, my _God…_ ”

Archie watched as he circled the couch in a daze, covering his hand over his mouth in horrified realization. “What?” Archie asked, swiveling his head to follow Hook’s movements. “What’s wrong?”

“We had different fathers,” Hook choked, as his wobbly legs gave way and he sank to a seat. “M-me and Liam…we had different fathers. She kept Liam’s dad’s stuff, but none of mine’s because…because…” He swallowed hard, and whispered, “ _I was a prostitute baby._ ”

Archie slowly brought his pen back out and clicked it open to write “prostitute baby” in his notes. Oh, that explained so much…

“That’s why she loved Liam, and she hated me,” Hook said numbly. “I was an _accident._ One of her clients knocked her up, and nine months later…me.”

“Probably why you developed an ambivalent/anxious attachment pattern,” Archie murmured.

“Developed a what?”

“Ambivalent/ anxious attachment pattern,” Archie repeated, setting down his pen. “Children whose parents waver between neglect and attention develop this because they don’t know what sort of treatment they’re going to get that day. I’m going to make an educated guess that when you were an infant, your mother responded to you sporadically—probably because she was still deciding whether or not to keep you or something along those lines—“

Hook put a hand to his heart, looking distressed.

“—and even afterward, she continued that roller coaster of emotional availability. That in turn made you increasingly desperate and yearning for those small flashes of affection; and when you got them, you regarded them with suspicion and distrust. You were always waiting for her to reject you, and yet, you were desperate for her to accept you.”

“How do you _know_ this?” Hook said, looking alarmed. “My God, that was my entire childhood!”

“An educated guess,” Archie said simply. “Attachment behaviors start in infancy and extend all the way to adulthood, shaping the way we approach relationships. You learned to approach relationships with alternating suspicion and clinginess. Every time you sense rejection, you hold on more desperately.”

“But how do you _know_?” Hook cried. “Magic? Is it magic? Because I don’t like magic, Dr. Hopper, and I don’t want you using it on me without my knowing!”

“It’s not magic, it’s your behavior,” Archie scoffed. “You’re a textbook case. Children with ambivalent/ anxious attachment grow into insecure, self-critical adults who depend on others to validate their self-worth. They assume the ‘pursuer’ of their relationships, seeking affection and attention to the point where they reach possessiveness and smothering. When they sense rejection, they often give way to dramatic behaviors in an effort to avoid it. Now—“

“Oh, my God, that’s me.” Hook stared at him with wide, horror-filled eyes, clutching the neck of his jacket. “I’ve…I’ve _done_ that, I’ve done _all_ that! And the rejection thing? The _rejection_ thing!”

Archie raised his eyebrows. “Are you thinking about something in particular?”

Hook nodded miserably. “First time Ruby broke up with me, I went to the diner and I told her in front of the whole room that I loved her.”

“Oh, wow.”

“I mean…we broke up again the week after, and she told me, she knew I didn't mean it because I say shit like that all time, _but I say shit like that all time.”_ Hook clung more tightly to his jacket, biting his lip anxiously. “I say shit like that all the time.”

“I know you do,” Archie said patiently. “I bet you’ve done that in all your relationships, haven't you?”

“Honestly, I haven't really had many relationships,” Hook confessed. “A lot of random sex, but not a lot of actual relationships.”

“Well, let’s walk through it, “Archie suggested. “First girlfriend?”

“Annamaria.” Hook smiled, a faraway look in his eyes. “Oh, Annamaria….She was beautiful, Dr. Hopper, you had to see this girl. Long, dark hair…blue, blue eyes…tall, graceful… _hot as fuck,_ let me tell you. Whew! And was she flexible, _oi,_ was she flexible! That girl could bend in ways I didn't even know were possible.”

“And what happened with Annamaria?” Archie prodded, ignoring the sexual ad-libs. 

Hook sighed. “I joined the navy, and she wasn't sure if she could handle a long distance relationship, so…” 

Archie waved him on. “So…?”

“So…I…” Hook winced. “I asked her to marry me.”

Archie sucked in a breath. “And how did that turn out?”

“Oh, she said ‘no’,” Hook assured him. “Got a resounding ‘no’ on that one.”

“Hmm.” Archie took up his pen again, jotting down notes about Annamaria. “And what was that relationship like when it was still going?”

“I was in love from Day One. Anna was…not.”

“Is that the name you have tattooed on your arm, there?” Archie asked, nodding at his right arm, where the curling end of an inked letter peeked out.

“No, that’s ‘Milah’,” Hook said, shaking back his sleeve to show him. “Eight years, I was with her. Much longer than Anna.”

“Really?” Archie frowned interestedly. “Tell me about Milah.”

“She was older…interesting…experienced. Very beautiful—long, black hair, piercing blue eyes…And she liked me.”

“Paid a lot of attention to you,” Archie said, reading between the lines. “Lots of affection.”

“Well, I provided more of the affection,” Hook admitted. “I tend toward sluttiness.”

“That’ll be the compensatory behavior,” Archie nodded. “You were starved of affection in childhood, so you make up for it with—to use the professional term—‘skankiness’.”

“So, it’s my mother’s fault that I’m a slut?” Hook raised his eyebrows hopefully. “I can blame all this on my mother?”

“Let’s—just—hold off on the blaming,” Archie said, holding up his hand. “Talk to me about Milah. Why did you stay with her so long?”

“I don’t know,” Hook sighed, leaning back on the couch. “She was captivated by me, hung off my every word. I liked the attention…I liked being swooned over. I liked not having to try so hard.”

“You felt secure with Milah,” Archie summarized. “You weren't scared of her rejecting you.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Hook agreed. “But then she died, so you know… _”_ He waved his hand wearily. “That whole thing happened.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Archie said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “And after Milah?”

“After Milah, a bunch of random girls. None of them lasted more than a week or so, it was just when we were resupplying at some port or other.”

“And after that?”

“I was on a revenge quest, I didn't have time to get involved with anyone,” Hook shrugged. “I mean, there were…there were _ladies_ that I had certain understandings with, but it was all physical. I didn't really have another relationship until Ruby.”

Archie nodded, scribbling away. “Tell me about Ruby.”

“You _know_ Ruby,” Hook said, sounding confused. “You see her all the time, don't you?”

“I want _you_ to tell me about Ruby,” Archie explained. “Like how you told me about Annamaria and Milah.”

“Um…” Hook leaned his head back against the couch, looking at the ceiling. “Let’s see…she’s beautiful. Dark hair, blue eyes, face of an angel…She’s into some weird shit, but I like it. Very creative, very flexible…”

Archie raised his eyebrows, not pausing in his scribbling. “Okay…”

“And…let me see, what else?” Hook exhaled. “She’s very affectionate, I love that. She loves to talk, although that can be a little exhausting because sometimes she’ll quiz me after, to make sure I was listening.”

“What about the relationship?” Archie asked, glancing up. “Would you say it’s ‘balanced’ or more ‘one-sided’?”

Hook thought for a minute, regarding him thoughtfully. “Doctor-patient confidentiality, right?” he said finally.

“Believe me, Hook—I have no desire to discuss you in my leisure time,” Archie told him. “Just tell me. This is a safe place.”

“…All right, then.” Hook sat up, taking a deep breath. “I love her, Archie. I love her so much, it hurts. I just want to be around her all the time, and when I’m not with her, I miss her more than anything. I love her like—“

“Hang on, hang on,” Archie said, racing to get his words down. “I’m only on ‘want to be around her all the time’.”

“—more than I can say, and I’ve been trying so hard not to come on too strong and scare her off, but I say stupid shit sometimes, and she got so angry and I—“ Hook shook his head helplessly, his voice breaking. Archie dryly passed him the box of tissues, which he accepted with a tearful, “Thank you.”

“So, this is another Annamaria relationship?” Archie asked. “Stronger feelings on your side?”

“I guess so,” he sniffed.

“And this has been a fairly unstable relationship, hasn't it? Lots of breaks in between, lots of anger?”

“I don’t like the word ‘anger’. Let’s say ‘passion’.”

“Passion, whatever. This is a rocky relationship?”

“There’s been a lot of ups and downs. She’s always the one who breaks it off, I’m always the one who comes crawling back.” Hook dabbed at his eyes, and let out a shuddering breath. “It’s because I’m too needy, isn't it? That’s why Ruby flipped out the other day. Because nobody wants someone with ambidextrous attachment to love them.”

“Ambivalent/ anxious,” Archie corrected automatically. “But again, let’s hold off on the blaming.” His thoughts drifted briefly to Ruby’s file, which had phrases like, “ _severe borderline personality disorder_ ” and “ _PTSD after consuming partner_ ” and “ _abandonment issues_ ” scattered throughout. “Ruby’s got her own problems.”

“Like fear of commitment,” Hook said instantly. “She likes having me around, but the second I try to change things or move them forward, she gets panicky and weird. That’s why we fight so much—she’s hyper-sensitive, and I’m, apparently, pathetic.”

“‘Pathetic’ is a strong word,” Archie hesitated. “Let’s say ‘emotionally dependent’ for now. And let’s stay focused on you, Ruby’s not the main issue here.” He lifted the pages of his notes, skimming his hurried handwriting. Annamaria…Milah…Ruby. It was like trying to solve a murder, tracing all the victims back to something that linked them together; looking for a pattern that could lead to an explanation. There was one thing that immediately jumped out to him, that kept showing up in all of their descriptions: they all seemed to have a similar look. Dark hair, blue eyes, tall and beautiful…

Archie frowned and slowly lifted his head to look at Hook, who was trying to wipe his eyes without smudging his eyeliner. “What did your mother look like?” 

“My mother?” Hook repeated, befuddled. “Why are we back on her? I thought this was about me.”

“This has a point,”Archie assured him. “What did your mother look like?”

“Um…” Hook closed his eyes, conjuring the memory of his mother. “Like me, I guess. She had long black hair…we had the same eyes, everyone always told me I had my mother’s eyes…tall, willowy…She was very beautiful, that was something else everyone said.” He opened his eyes, grimacing. “Probably why she got such good business.”

“Long black hair, blue eyes, tall and beautiful,” Archie echoed. “Who else does that sound like to you? Out of all the significant women in your life, who else does that description fit?”

Hook looked blank for a second…then a small frown creased on his face, deepening the longer Archie looked at him. “I don’t like where this is going,” he said warily.

“Who else has dark hair and blue eyes?” Archie pressed. “Who else is tall and beautiful? Who, other than your mother?”

“I don’t know—“

“Yes, you _do_ know. Say it, Hook. Who else looks like her?”

“They don’t _look_ like her—!”

“Who doesn't look like her?”

“No one, there’s no—“

“Who doesn't look like her?”

“—can’t be that fucked up, I can’t be—“

“Who doesn’t look like her?”

“RUBY!” Hook shouted, jumping to his feet. “RUBY! AND MILAH! AND ANNAMARIA, THEY _ALL_ LOOK LIKE HER, OKAY?”

Archie sat back as Hook started pacing the room, wildly running his hand through his hair and talking to himself in a frenzied whisper. 

“They look like her,” he muttered, his voice shaking. “They look like her. Oh, God, Dr. Hopper, what’s _wrong_ wth me?” He stopped, staring at him with wide eyes. “Christ…it’s not like… _I’m not in love with my own mother, am I?”_

“It’s a little early in the day to diagnose an Oedipus complex,” Archie said, folding his hands over his knee. “It doesn't quite read that way to me, anyway. Sit down, though—this is pretty sad.”

Hook obediently sank to a seat, looking extremely pale and gaunt, his eyes haunted. 

“Considering everything all together,” Archie said, gesturing at the stack of paper that was Hook’s file, “I’m going to say, you never got the love you were looking for from your mother in childhood. And with this attachment pattern, I think there was nothing you needed more than to feel loved by your mother, so even when you grew up, you were still desperately searching for that. You could never be loved by her, but you could be loved by someone _like_ her, and that was the closest you could get. So you clung to these women who reminded you of her, so you could try to satiate that hunger for your mother’s affection.” He sighed, adjusting his spectacles. “But romantic and sexual love are not replacements for parental love, so it never worked. Your instinct is to seek a secure attachment, but you can’t get that because you’re depending on the other person to provide that for you. Romantic love is different than parental love: romantic love ideally includes equal effort by both partners; parental love is unconditional. That’s why, all your desperation to feel closer to someone and to hold onto them backfires: you’re trying to fulfill a need with a poor substitute, and it’s not going to work.”

Hook’s lower lip trembled violently. “Oh, my _God,_ ” he whispered. “I feel so sorry for me.”

Archie sighed, leaning forward in his seat. “I’m going to highly recommend you keep coming to see me,” he said. “We’ve got a lot to work through—we haven't even touched on your daddy issues yet, your alcoholism, your compulsive sluttiness…I’m free on Tuesdays at eleven, I really think you should come by.”

“Okay,” Hook said numbly. “That sounds good.”

He was started to stand up to leave, but Archie held up a hand to stop him.

“And don’t…” Archie grimaced. “Don’t sleep with Ruby for a while, okay? Try to keep a safe distance between you two.”

“Yeah,” Hook said hoarsely. “That sounds good, too.”

* * *

 

Neal whistled tunelessly as he shouldered open the door to the apartment. He was in a fairly good mood, which would have been odd under normal circumstances, as he’d just come home from a day of work. Alas, these were _not_ normal circumstances: working through finances at the pawnshop was a million times better than wiling away the hours at the station. For one thing, it was all math and calculations; and not many people knew this about Neal, but he was actually really good at math and calculations. Probably why he picked up star-charting so easily, despite Hook’s laughably bad teaching skills. 

For another, he didn't have to spend the day around Graham. As nice as the guy was, especially about the fact that he was doing seventy percent of the station’s work, Neal just couldn't get himself to _like_ Graham. There was something about him—the too-perfect face, the swoon-worthy accent, the genuine compassion for all living things—that just got on his nerves. Graham was like a genetically-engineered, Shakespeare-inspired, flowers-grow-where-his-feet-touch-the-earth guy whose only purpose seemed to be reminding the other three in the station that they were inferior human beings. 

Also, working in the pawnshop made a _much_ nicer paycheck than the station. Being Rumple’s accountant was a very lucrative position: now he could actually afford to buy new furniture, instead of dragging the stuff from his New York apartment and hoping those goddamn college kids didn't have an contagious diseases. That was a load off his mind, as now, all he had to do was grab those few boxes of personal items, drop off the keys, sign some papers, and he was done.

“Neal…”

Neal closed his eyes, his good mood evaporating at the sound of Hook’s mopey voice coming down the stairs. Footsteps dropped melancholily, echoing against the hollow staircase, until there was a pause, a _thud!_ as Hook jumped the last couple steps, and then the continued shuffling.

“Neal…” he whined again, materializing beside him in the kitchen. “I had an awful time of it at Archie’s. I learned things about myself. I _hate_ learning.”

“At least the subject material was to your taste,” Neal pointed out, opening the fridge to scan the sparse shelves. “Bro, we have, like, _no_ food.”

“I can’t eat right now, anyway,” Hook said tragically. “I’m a wreck, Neal. A wreck.”

“How long have those pickles been in there?”

“It was absolutely devastating, I can’t even begin to tell you. Such trauma, such _triggers—“_

 _“—_ mayonnaise? Why the hell do we have mayonnaise? I hate mayonnaise—“

“—and the flashbacks! My God, the flashbacks!”

“ _Olives?_ Who bought olives?”

“Emma bought olives,” Hook sighed, giving up on his attempt to make Neal feel sorry for him. “The other day.”

Neal made a face.“Why did Emma buy olives?”

“She likes olives.”

“Since when?”

“She’s liked olives as long I’ve known her.”

“Really? How did I not know about this?”

“I don’t think we’ve ever made the time to discuss olive preferences.”

“I don’t want olives in my fridge. I hate olives.”

“Good luck living with her, then.” 

“If you ever move out…” Neal muttered, shutting the fridge. 

“Sorry, what was that?” Hook frowned, following him as he started opening the cabinets. “Neal, it’s impolite to whisper in front of company.”

“And it’s impolite for company to leave their shoes everywhere,” Neal countered, kicking a stray boot out of the way. “Are you serious with this?”

“Look, I’ve had a rough day,” Hook grumbled. “I don’t have time to go around, tracking my shoes. I’m in crisis mode, Neal. I’ve made self-discoveries that have launched me into a full crisis mode.”

“Have you?” Neal exhaled, taking out a box of Cheerios. He leaned against the counter and fished out a handful of cereal, settling in as Hook let out a theatrical sigh. 

“If you knew what I’d been through today, you wouldn't act so heartless,” he declared. “First of all, Archie is a genius, and I hate him for it. Because if he wasn't such a bloody genius, I could still be blissfully ignorant, and think that all my psychological disturbances were just facets of a vivacious personality—”

Neal choked, coughing violently into his fist.

“—but _no._ My eyes have been forced open, flooded with the garish light of enlightenment and knowledge. I have been dragged away from Plato’s cave and the peaceful shadows, and shown the terrifying images of reality—“

“Did you just reference _Plato_?” Neal said incredulously. 

“Yes,” Hook said, looking irritated at the interruption. “What—surprised I’m not completely illiterate?”

“No, I…I just didn't realize you knew Plato.”

“I read,” Hook said, stung. “I don’t just shelve books in the library, Neal. Sometimes, I actually open them.”

Neal shook his head: the image of Hook reading something that didn't come with a glossy cover and an article on Beyonce was just too weird.

“You want to know what I found out today?” Hook demanded. Without waiting for a response, he braced his hand on Neal’s shoulder, looking at him darkly. “ _I was a prostitute baby._ ”

Neal’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“A prostitute baby!” Hook cried. “My mother was a professional slut, Neal! She exchanged sexual favors for money! I was raised, clothed, and fed on a whore’s salary!”

“ _Oh,_ ” Neal said with dawning comprehension. “Wow, okay, that’s a relief. That phrase was a little confusing.”

“I never realized it! All these years, and I never realized that my mother had sex with a million different men, just to scrape a living! She didn't even love me, and she still demeaned herself like that, just to provide for me and my brother!” Hook dropped his head on Neal’s shoulder tragically. “I feel so guilty,” he said in a muffled voice. “On top of everything else, I feel _guilty._ ”

“Pick up your head,” Neal complained, shrugging away from him. “Stop trying to cry on my shoulder.”

“I’ve so much to cry about, though,” Hook whimpered. “Being a prostitute baby is the least of my worries. I need my best mate right now. And a hug, I’m in desperate need of a hug.” 

“So call Robin, I’m not hugging you, bro.”

“Neal,” Hook whined, following him to the couch. “I used the word _desperate._ Take pity on me. Be vaguely human. Just for a minute or two, _please?_ ”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Neal said absently, glancing around for the remote.

“No, I won’t be,” Hook insisted, flopping down face-first on the couch and continuing on in a muffled voice. “Archie said I need to stay away from Ruby.”

“He needed a fake degree from Harvard to tell you that?” Neal scoffed. 

“She looks like my mother. Mum didn't love me, so I crave affection from women who resemble her. Isn't that _sick?_ ”

“Gross,” Neal agreed, flipping on the T.V.

“And _sad!_ ” Hook said, lifting himself up on his elbows. “How sad is that, Neal? I fall in love with women who look like my mother because my whole life, I’ve been trying to make up for the heartbroken little boy I was my whole childhood! She was so obvious about how much she loved Liam because _his father was a navy man_ and mine was probably some drunken sailor. Beautiful, no doubt, but a moronic deadbeat, I’m sure.”

“Hmm.”

“But it’s horrible!” Hook went on, sounding on the verge of tears. “Think about it, Neal! What if the only reason I love Ruby is because she looks like my mum? Then I really _am_ as shallow as everyone says, and everything I thought I felt about our relationship is complete rubbish because the whole thing comes down to her physical beauty and nothing else!”

“And how exactly does that conflict with everything you thought you felt?” Neal frowned. 

“I’m going to ignore the insult, because I’m more disturbed by the fact that it’s because she resembles my _mother_ than the mere fact that she’s beautiful,” Hook said with haunted eyes. “Black hair, blue eyes, tall and slutty…I always thought that was my type because I had good taste. But no—no, it’s because of _Mum._ ”

“Have you ever considered, that maybe it’s because of you?” Neal suggested. “I mean, that description fits you pretty well, too. Maybe you fall for these girls because they remind of yourself, and—”

Hook shook his head. “I already asked Archie about that, but he dashed my hopes, little bastard. Said it was possible, but the alternative was far more likely, considering my attachment pattern.”

“Oh.”

“And my history,” he sighed. “Every serious girlfriend I’ve ever had…they’ve all looked the same, they’ve all had the same high-maintenance, but affectionate personalities. Ruby’s different, of course, she’s a modern woman and all, educates me on the difference between chauvinism and chivalry—I’ve a different relationship with her than I did with Annamaria or Milah…”

Neal tensed at the mention of his mother’s name. He’d never known her, so he’d never really grieved her, but it still sent a ripple of nausea through him to hear Hook toss her name around. Considering the relationship they had now, it was easy to forget Hook had once been involved with his mother, but moments like these brought up dangerously emotional memories…being fourteen years old, waving a piece of parchment and swinging a sword around—

 _NOPE,_ he thought suddenly, forcing down  the memory. No time for unpleasant childhood memories. There was never time for unpleasant childhood memories, and he didn't want to worry about them leading to the disgusting display of emotion that so often accompanied people’s unpleasant childhood memories. Much easier to just forget and immerse himself in someone else’s problems until they faded back to their normal, vague existence.

“…hardly matters because she’s still cross with me over what happened at the Christmas party, and I don’t have the energy to deal with everything at the same time. No bloody wonder I’m an alcoholic!” Hook looked at him helplessly. “What do I do, Neal?”

“Whatever Archie told you, I guess,” Neal shrugged. “Stay away from Ruby, figure out your shit, and go back to your meaningless existence.”

“How do I stay away from Ruby? How do I figure out my shit? How _dare_ you call my life a ‘meaningless existence’, and how do I get back to it?”

“Look, man—I’m not a professional, nor am I brave enough to look into all—“ Neal waved vaguely at Hook’s head—“ _that,_ so I can’t tell you how to figure out your shit. But staying away from Ruby is easy enough. All you have to do is physically stay in another part of town from her, it’s not hard.”

“But how do I keep my feet from moving into her part of town?” Hook moped. “I’ll start thinking about her, and then my feet’ll start moving and it turns into a whole thing.”

“So _that’s_ how you guys kept getting back together,” Neal said. “Your _feet_ started moving of their own accord, and it _turned into a whole thing_ …”

“You know what I mean,” Hook exhaled impatiently.

“I don’t, actually,” Neal frowned. “How difficult is it to simply not move? You _do_ have voluntary control over your motor cortex, don't you?”

“Have what over my what?”

“Control. Over your motor cortex. In your brain?” Neal pointed to the side of his head. “You have one, right?”

“You mock my pain,” Hook said in an injured voice.

“I mock you in general,” Neal corrected swiftly. 

“I am asking you for help!” Hook said in ringing tones. “My God, Neal! Where is your compassion?”

“I don’t know,” Neal shrugged. “Maybe it’s in the New York apartment, with all the other stuff I don’t use anymore.”

His words seemed to have a transformative effect on Hook: the anguish on his face was immediately wiped clear, and he straightened up, pointing a decisive finger at Neal.

“Your New York apartment,” he said. “We were supposed to go there. Pack up your shit. Drop off your keys.”

“Yeah, I know,” Neal said, eying him warily. “So…?”

“So, this is my perfect opportunity to get away from Ruby, isn't it?” Hook said, a smile growing on his face. “Neal, what better way to mend my broken heart than a few days in the big city? I can’t be _with_ her, and I can’t be anywhere _near_ her, so why not just _remove_ me from Storybrooke and take me to New York?”

“Because this trip isn't meant to be Killian Jones’s Self-Discovery, Jack-Kerouac-Road-Trip,” Neal frowned. “This is me, tying up old business and stuffing a few boxes in David’s truck. I don't want to take you, and end up spending the whole time discussing you and Ruby and your mother—God knows, these past twenty minutes have been bad enough.”

“No, no, no, no—this will be all about your stupid boxes,” Hook promised.

“Stupid boxes.”

“Your incredible boxes. The boxes that I love. The boxes that inspire my soul daily—“

“All right, shut up,” Neal said. “You really want to go that badly?”

“Yes,” Hook said instantly. “Yes, yes, yes. I need to go to New York, I need to get away from this town. Help me, Obi-Neal Kenobi. You’re my only hope.”

“ _Star Wars_ puns?” Neal said, looking at him incredulously. “Stand still, so I can punch the face off your skull.”

“Neal,” Hook pleaded. “ _Work with me here._ ”

“That was a _terrible_ joke—“

“I’M SORRY!” Hook shouted. “NOT THE THING I’M FOCUSING ON HERE, MATE. ARE WE GOING OR NOT?”

“Don’t get bitchy,” Neal frowned. “We’ll go, I just don’t appreciate bad comedy.”

“So, we’re going?”

“Yeah, we’re— _GAH!_ ” Neal choked as Hook threw his arms around him in a tight, grateful hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! You wonderful person, you, I _love_ you!” Hook’s voice blared in his ear. “When are we going? Tonight? You want to go tonight? You want to go _now?_ ”

“No, I don’t want to go now, and get the hell off me!” Neal pushed away from him, scowling. “Crazy person.”

Hook didn't seem bothered in the least. “When can we go, though?” he asked, practically bouncing. “Tomorrow? Can we go tomorrow?”

“If you shut up and stop talking to me about your feelings and _Star Wars,_ we can go tomorrow,” Neal said, brushing out the wrinkles from his shirt. “I’ll have to tell Emma—“

Hook waved his hand, as if nothing could be less important than Emma. “Do whatever you have to do—I’m going to call Ruby.”

“Call—?” Neal shook his head in confusion. “Bro, you just said you needed to get away from her.”

“I can’t leave without saying _Goodbye,”_ Hook said, scandalized. “Besides, I need to tell her that Archie says I have to stay away from her, and it’ll be devastating. She’ll want to talk, she may cry, _I_ may cry…This requires a face-to-face conversation.”

“Just make sure you keep a respectable distance between those faces,” Neal warned him.

“I know, I know,” Hook assured him, digging in his pocket for his phone. “Thank you, Neal—thank you for this!”

“It’s not for you, it’s for me!” Neal called after him as he scampered up the stairs with the phone pressed to his ear.

“…it’s me, how are you?” Hook’s voice drifted down. “Oh, good, that’s good to hear, love. Listen, I need to talk to you…”

Neal sighed and pulled out his own phone, lowering the volume of the T.V. He didn't even know what he was watching, but it involved an overenthusiastic group of people and crafts—two of the things he hated most, so why the hell was he watching it? Crafts were just creepy, and people who got enthused about it were even creepier—

“Hello?” Emma answered.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said, dragging his eyes from the screen. “Whatcha doing?”

“Oh, nothing much,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Just on a patrol, ‘round this crime-ridden town.”

“Another patrol, really?”

“They’re fun. I like driving with the sirens, I feel important.”

“All right, whatever,” Neal said. “Listen, you remember how I told you one of these days, I was going to take a trip with Hook to New York, to get rid of that apartment I got?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, ‘one of these days’ just became tomorrow, so—“

“Tomorrow?” Emma repeated. 

“Yeah, Hook’s got a thing, Archie got involved, it’s…messy, I’ll tell you later,” Neal said, rubbing his eyes. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know, so…”

Emma was silent for a moment. “How long are you going to be gone?”

“Few days, maybe?” Neal shrugged. “Why?”

“No, I was just…” Emma trailed off musingly. “You know what would be interesting?”

“Hmm?”

“If when you and Hook came back, all my stuff was in your place.”

Neal frowned, cocking his head. “’S’cuse me?”

“This is good, this is good,” Emma insisted. “You remember how we were talking the other day, about how we never get any time alone and this apartment was supposed to be our chance, but we got screwed out of it because Hook moved in and made a mess of everything?”

“Yeah.”

“So, what if we just kind of…gently _nudge_ him out? I’ll move my stuff in and he’ll feel cramped and move out, and then everyone gets what they want!”

“Yeah, or I’ve got three people living in an apartment, two of whom hate each other—“

“I don’t _hate_ him—“

“—with all their stuff, and then there’s arguments and there’s tension and there’s feelings, and we all know how I feel about feelings in the apartment—“

“Okay, fine!” Emma said exasperatedly. “It was just a suggestion.”

“Just…” Neal exhaled through his teeth. “Please don’t do any stupid shit while I’m gone. I’m already looking at seventy-two hours of dealing with Hook and his emotions on my own, I don’t want to worry about this.”

“Then don’t. It was just a thought.”

Neal slumped against the couch in relief. “Thanks, Em.”

“Mmm-hmm. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye.”

He hung up, stowing the phone away in his jacket. Hook’s voice echoed down from upstairs, wavering in and out as he paced the floor.

“…so we’ll talk tomorrow?…very important, yes…I know …I know…Okay. Thanks, love. I’ll see you, then.” Hook leaned over the railing. “Wake me up by seven tomorrow, I have to meet Ruby.”

Neal laughed. “I don't think so. What makes you think I’ll be up at that ridiculous time? You’re on your own, bro.”

“I’m not responsible enough to wake myself up, Neal, you _know_ that!” Hook said indignantly. “God knows, I don’t ask you for much—“

“ _Excuse me?”_

“—all right, I do, but at least show me how to work the alarm clock on my phone? Since His Majesty apparently needs his beauty sleep?”

Neal raised his eyebrows. “Am I meant to be ’His Majesty’ in this scenario?”

“That’s right,” Hook said defiantly.

“Implying that I am royalty and you are my subject?”

“…Sure.”

“So, you just gave me the authority to execute you.”

Hook looked at him for a long time, his gaze growing steadily darker. “Neal Cassidy, you are easily the most frustrating person I have ever met in my entire life.”

Neal smiled, touched. “Thank you, Killy. That means a lot.”

 


	63. Chapter 63

_“…Who’s to know if your soul will fade at all? The one you sold to fool the world. You lost your self-esteem along the way…”_

Henry half-sang, half-hummed along with Seether as he strolled down the hallway of the station, one backpack strap slung over his shoulder. Now that Christmas was over, it was time to settle into his winter-break-homework. 

He always liked going to to the station to work on his homework. Graham was always there, so none of the parents could ever complain he was unsupervised or accuse him of sneaking off. And working in a room surrounded by official crap made the hours go by faster: it somehow transformed “homework” into “extremely necessary work”.  Plus, the station was always nice and quiet, since the only ones who seemed to be there anymore were Henry and Graham: Emma was always out with the patrol car; and Neal had taken to hanging around Rumple’s shop when he wasn't with Emma, checking out the books and finances. As for Hook— _if_ he decided to work that day—he usually found something to do at the library, where Belle was conveniently located, so they could gossip all day.

 _“…Fake it—if you’re out of direction. Fake it— if you don’t belong here. Fake it—if you feel like affection. Who-o-oa, you’re such a fucking hypocrite—_ hey, Graham.”

“Hey, Henry,” Graham called out, not looking up from his papers. “What are you singing? It’s dreadful.”

“Dreadful?” Henry scoffed. “It’s better than Celine Dion.”

Graham exhaled exasperatedly. “That was _one song!_ ” he said. “Am I to be condemned for the rest of my life because I like _one_ Celine Dion song?”

“That’s enough to condemn your immortal soul,” Henry told him seriously. He dropped his backpack on Neal’s desk and started pulling textbooks out. “So, how was your Christmas?”

“Quiet,” Graham said. “Victor was working the emergency room, so I took a page out of his book, and had lasagna and a _Star Wars_ marathon.”

“And how was that?”

“Extremely dull and depressing.”

Henry tsked sympathetically. “Sucks, man.” He swiped out the chair with his foot and settled into it, kicking his feet up on the desk. “You should have been able to spend Christmas with your boyfriend.”

Graham looked up with a frown. “With my what?”

“ _Sorry,_ ” Henry droned, rolling his eyes dramatically. “With your—“ he made air-quotes— _“friend.”_

“I’m not…” Graham gave his head a little shake. “Are you implying something?”

“Yes, but I’ve got too much to do to explain it to you right now.” Henry dropped his gaze back to the textbooks and exhaled reluctantly; then, dragged out his AP Chem notes and his calculator to start work on those nauseating titration problems.

 _This is ridiculous,_ he scoffed to himself. Here he was, a gifted young necromancer, with the power to raise the dead and breach the invisible realm between worlds…and he was more worried about turning these problems in by Tuesday. 

Well, that wasn't entirely true. There was _one_ thing he was more worried about than titration: stealing the swan pendant. Rumple had finally reached a solid enough theory to test for the well, and once Henry managed to get his hands on Emma’s talisman (which was a world of problems unto itself, as she never took it off), he had to think about the fact that he was _actually resurrecting Cora._ As in, _Cora_ Cora, the woman who’d once planned to take over Storybrooke and become the Dark One, plotting to kill his entire family; not to mention, committing the unforgivable crime of bringing Hook to Storybrooke in the first place. She was going to get a slap for that. 

It also bothered him that no one else seemed to have any anxiety over Cora returning to the town she once tried to destroy. Henry didn't say anything, but “peace of mind” was becoming increasingly foreign, the closer he got to actually bringing her back. On the one hand, Regina and Rumple had once been in similar positions to Cora, and they’d managed to turn themselves around. Rumple was getting a little excited during their magic lessons, but there was still Belle and Archie to keep an eye on him. 

But _Cora_ would be depending on Regina: no one else would want to get near her, and no one else particularly wanted her back. So she’d be depending solely on Regina—who was currently an unstable, magic-spurting, rage-filled pregnant woman who was liable to burst into tears or flames at the drop of  hat— to keep her mentally sound.

Before anything else, though, he had to get the damn necklace. And Rumple was getting impatient: the past two days, he had been calling Henry incessantly to ask feverishly, “Did you get it?” Henry would reply with a sigh and a, “No, Grandpa…” And then Rumple would be quiet for a minute, then say with very obvious disappointment, “All right, Henry. Thank you for trying.” 

 _Right on schedule,_ Henry grimaced, hearing his phone go off. He exhaled impatiently at Rumple’s name flashing on screen.

“What?” he answered.

“Henry! It’s me!”

“I know it’s you, what do you want?”

“Oh, you do remind me of your father, Henry,” Rumple sighed. 

“Thanks, what do you want?”

“How’s Operation Klepto-Kid going?”

Henry frowned. _“Excuse me?_ ”

“That’s what I’ve been calling it,” Rumple said cheerfully. “How’s it going? Did you get the necklace yet?”

“In the past hour since you last called me? No, Grandpa, I didn’t.”

Rumple was quiet. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “I’m sure you’ll get it. Eventually.”

“Will you stop that?” Henry snapped. “I said, I’ll get it, okay? Stop laying a guilt trip on me, it’s not as easy as it looks! She never takes it off! I can’t just rip the thing off her!”

Graham looked up, concerned. “Henry, who are you talking to?”

Henry put the phone against his shoulder to cover the mouthpiece, giving him a weak smile. “I know that sounded weird and creepy, but everything’s fine. Really, really.”

“What are you discussing, exactly?” Graham frowned. “Because that sounded _really_ weird and creepy.”

“It’s about magic lessons, it’s this whole thing,” Henry said dismissively. “There’s this necklace, and it’s important and complicated, but it’s need-to-know, Graham, and that’s all you need to know.”

“Who are you talking to?” Rumple asked on the end.

“Graham.”

“Graham? Graham who?”

“Graham—“ Henry frowned, suddenly realizing he had no idea what Graham’s last name was. He’d only ever been _Sheriff Graham._ “Graham, what’s your last name?”

“Humbert,” Graham said promptly.

“ _Humbert?_ ”

“What’s wrong with ‘Humbert’?”

Henry stared at him for a minute, struggling to compute the fact that Graham’s last name was _Humbert. “_ I…I just don’t know how to respond to that.”

“Graham _who?_ ” Rumple persisted on the phone.

“Humbert,” Henry said distractedly.

“Humbert? Who’s Graham Humbert?”

“Sheriff Graham.”

“Graham’s last name is _Humbert?_ ”

“Apparently so.”

“That’s so weird…”

“I know.”

“Hey, you know what else is weird?” Rumple didn't wait for Henry to respond. “That you come from a dynasty of the world’s greatest thieves and swindlers, and you can’t figure out how to steal a _keychain._ ”

“Grandpa!” Henry snapped, immediately forgetting the Humbert dilemma. 

“Well, honestly, Henry!” Rumple snapped back. “You’re either incredibly stupid or incredibly lazy, and I know you’re not incredibly stupid, so what’s the deal, kid?”

“I told you, it’s harder than it looks!” Henry said. “She _never takes it off._ What do you want me to do—put her in a chokehold and rip it off her neck?”

“She has to take it off sometime!” Rumple argued. “In fact, I can _guarantee_ it. That chain doesn't have any rust on it, does it? Still nice and silver and shiny?”

“So what?” Henry scoffed.

“ _So…._ what happens when you run silver under water?”

“Wet silver? I don’t—“

“ _Rust,_ boy, _rust._ ”

“All right, rust,” Henry said exasperatedly. “Again—so what?”

“So, she has to be taking it off before she showers,” Rumple said irritably. “All you do, is sneak in her room when she’s in the bath, grab it, and hightail it out of there.” He let out an annoyed huff. “My God, I have to do _everything_ around here!”

Henry rolled his eyes. In all honesty, if he hadn't been so reluctant to actually make headway on this resurrection mission, he would have figured that out in less than two minutes. Now, thanks to Rumple, he didn't have an excuse to put it off anymore. “Goodbye, Grandpa.”

“You _will_ meet me at the well tonight, _with_ the chain,” Rumple said vehemently. “No more bullshit, Henry. You get it done, and you get it done fast.”

“No, not tonight,” Henry said, shaking his head. “I have too much homework. Tomorrow night works better for me.”

“Tomorrow?” Rumple mused. “I don’t think I can do it tomorrow. I got a thing with Belle. We’re having people over. What about the day _after_ tomorrow?”

“Mmm….” Henry tilted his head, considering. “I can do that.”

“Then it’s settled. The day after tomorrow, you _will_ meet me at the well _with_ the chain.”

“Fine.”

“Bring your winter coat, not that flimsy jacket you wear, or you’ll catch your death of cold,” he chided, suddenly a mother hen. “And for God’s sake, Henry, eat something! You’re all skin and bones!”

“Fine.”

“You can come over for dinner tonight, if you want,” Rumple offered. “Belle’s making meatballs.”

“I might stop by,” Henry said, lazily circling on the wheeled chair. “Depends on how much I get done.”

“Is that Henry?” Belle’s voice said in the background. “Hi, Henry!”

“Hi, Belle.”

“I’m making meatballs!” she hollered back. “You should come over tonight!”

“He needs to work on his homework first,” Rumple answered her. “All right, Henry, you get back to work. We’ll see you for meatballs tonight.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Henry shrugged, picking at a loose thread. “Bye, Grandpa.”

“See you, Henry.”

Henry stuck his phone back in his pocket, and reluctantly went back to his homework. Oh, chemistry….Far less interesting than magic, but just as much a pain in the ass. Everything required complete focus and attention to detail, and he really wasn't feeling it for “attention to detail” today. 

“Hello, boys!” Emma’s voice called out, startling both Henry and Graham. Her clunking boots announced her presence even before she strode to the center of the room, as if walking into the spotlight.

“ _So,_ ” she said, beaming at them. “Who wants to help me with something tomorrow?”

“Ooh, I don’t,” Henry said, raising his hand sarcastically.

“Henry’s in,” Emma said, pointing triumphantly at him. She swiveled around to Graham. “What about you, Teddy-Grahams, you in?”

“I’ve got a thing with Jeff tomorrow,” he said, shaking his head. 

Henry twitched a frown, and exchanged a look with Emma. Were Graham and Jefferson… _an item_ now?

“It’s not a _date,_ ” Graham said exasperatedly, apparently reading their minds. “We’re just two guys, grabbing a cup of coffee, okay? We’re _friends._ ”

“Isn’t this the friend who tried to kiss you?” Henry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Graham frowned. “How do _you_ know about that?”

“Grace told Nik, Nik told Ava, Ava told me,” he shrugged. “Tell me about that ‘just friends’ thing again?”

“Ooh, no, tell me about the ‘tried to kiss you’ thing again,” Emma said, leaning forward with intrigue. “I want to hear _that_ story.”

“There _is_ no story! Why is my life suddenly interesting to you people?”

“Come on, Teddy-Grahams,” Emma urged. 

“And why are you calling me ‘Teddy-Grahams’ out of nowhere, what _is_ that?” Graham said, looking at her bewilderedly. 

“I thought of it on the way over,” she grinned. “It’s your new nickname. Like it?”

“Not really.”

‘’Oh, come on, Teddy-Grahams,” Henry wheedled. “Don’t be a fun sucker.”

“Tell us about Jefferson!”

“Are you two going out?”

“Are you doing it?”

“Are there any pet names?”

“Does Grace know?”

“Does _Whale_ know?”

“Stop!” Graham cried. “Stop harassing me, I don’t even know what you’re talking about! God what do you people want from me?”

“I didn't know you were into guys, too!” Emma said, sounding betrayed. “I can’t believe you didn't tell me this earlier! Oh, Graham, we could have talked about _so_ much—“

“I’m _not_ into guys, too! I told you, we’re _friends.”_

 _“_ Yeah, okay you’re friends,” Henry said, rolling his eyes. “But you’re never _just friends._ Look at me and Violet.”

Emma whipped around with wide eyes. “What?”

“What?” Henry said innocently.

“What did you say about you and Violet?”

“Nothing.”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “Henry, can I see you in my office for a minute?”

“I’ll have to check my schedule—“

“ _Now,_ Henry.” Emma pointed to her office, her gaze positively deadly. Henry exhaled an, “Oh, shit”, and pushed himself up from the chair. Emma slid her eyes to the side, following him as he trudged past her; then stalked after him.

Henry shouldered open the door to her office and threw himself into her chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. He tucked his arms behind his head, closing his eyes.

“This is a great chair,” he murmured lazily. 

“Glad you like it,” Emma said shortly, jerking the door shut behind her. “So, what about you and Violet?”

Henry opened one eye and rolled it to the side, peering at her: she was leaning against the wall with folded arms and a dark look on her face. _Oh, Christ,_ he thought to himself, grimacing. This was going to be fun.

“Me and Violet are friends,” he replied dutifully. 

“Oh, but you’re _never just friends,_ right?”

“Well, she’s also really hot,” Henry said loudly. “Does that clear things up?”

Emma exhaled in exasperation. “Henry, I’m serious.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asked the ceiling. 

“I just want to know what’s going on with you two,” Emma said, though she looked as though she very much did _not_ want to know that. “If I should be worried.”

“Worried about what?” Henry said, raising his eyebrows. “That, despite everything, I might actually be a normal teenager?”

“Yes, I’m very concerned about that,” she nodded.

“Well, get used to being concerned, then,” he said shortly. “Because I’m not ten years old anymore, and you and Regina breathing down my neck about Violet is starting to get really annoying.”

“Look, Henry, I know I’m _the cool mom—“_ Emma rolled her eyes, pretending modesty—“but you can’t just start dating someone without talking to me about it first. In fact, there’s a _lot_ we need to talk about before you start dating someone.” She coughed into her fist, avoiding his gaze. “For example…I know you’re getting to a certain age now…”

Henry widened his eyes. Good God, in Heaven, she wasn't attempting to have _The Talk_ with him, was she? 

“…and I know that…certain things are going through your head—“

“Mom,” he interrupted hurriedly. “I know how babies are made and everything, okay? We really don’t have to—“

“—but you should probably talk to your dad about that because I don’t know what the guy situation is, entirely—“

“Okay, thanks, Mom, I will, please shut up now!”

“Henry, I’m only telling you this, because I don’t want you to end up in the same situation _I_ was in. Or rather, I don’t want Violet to. You realize, you’re only four years younger than I was when I _had_ you?”

“Oh, my God,” Henry groaned, sinking further into the chair. “Can we _please_ stop talking about this?”

“I’d love to, but that would require me to have some peace of mind, and you’re just not giving it to me,” Emma said simply.

“Okay, here’s your peace of mind.” Henry sat up, looking her dead in the eye. “Between school and magic lessons and that minor issue of _necromancy_ I got going on now—I don’t have a lot of time for a girlfriend. So things are moving slow. _Very_ slow. Glaciers are zipping past us. So, like I said, you really have nothing to worry about.”

Emma looked at him for a long time, as if trying to determine whether or not he was lying through his teeth ( _Oh,_ Henry realized, rolling his eyes, _she’s using her superpower)_. Finally, she nodded slowly: once, twice, three times.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, I believe you.”

“Oh, joy,” Henry said, spreading his lips in a sarcastic smile. 

“Well, now we’ve got that taken care of—“ Emma clapped her hands together, and pointed at him—“let’s discuss how you’re going to help me tomorrow.”

“Mmm, I already decided, I didn't want to,” Henry shrugged.

“You’ll want to,” Emma said knowingly. “But you can’t tell Dad, okay?”

Henry raised his eyebrows. “Are we hiding Hook’s body?” he asked hopefully. 

“No, not this time,” she smiled. “Someday, perhaps. Actually, I wanted you to help get all his shit together and get it out of the apartment, so I can move my stuff in.”

“Okay…” Henry frowned. “But why can’t I tell Dad? Isn't this a good thing?”

“‘Cause I said I wouldn’t,” Emma shrugged. “But I’m gonna.”

“But I don’t want to get in trouble with Dad.”

“Nobody _wants_ to, Henry,” she said reasonably. “But you might have to risk it, because we only have a very small window of time to work in. And if we don’t push Hook out, he’ll never leave. He’s like that stray dog: once you invite it into your home, _there’s no getting rid of it.”_

Henry blew out a breath, tapping his fingers on the armrest. “That sounds like a lot of work,” he mused. “Moving…packing…and I’ve got all that homework to do, not to mention I have to dinner with Grandpa tonight, and he’ll want to set something up for tomorrow—“

“Quite the social butterfly, aren't you?” Emma frowned. 

“I’m only saying, maybe you should make it worth my while,” Henry suggested. “I’ll have to sacrifice my own time and energy to help you, so I should be compensated.”

Emma blinked at him, as though she had never quite seen anything like him before. “Excuse me?”

“I’m offering you a deal,” Henry elaborated. “I will help you move Hook’s disturbingly extensive leather collect out of the apartment, and you…” He turned a little smile. “You can just own me a favor.”

He rather liked the idea of Emma owing him a favor. Hook had yet to use the favor he had on Henry for stealing his hook, and Henry had jealously considered the feeling of power over him Hook felt (when he remembered, anyways). And after all the time he’d been spending around Rumple, he’d developed a new appreciation for the “puppet master” approach to life. This seemed as good a time as any to start trying it out. 

“You’re offering me a deal,” Emma repeated. “You going to start wearing a three-piece-suit and walking with a limp, too?”

“If the mood strikes me,” Henry shrugged. He stuck his hand out, waiting for her to shake it. ”Well?”

Emma shifted uncomfortably on her feet. “Henry, I didn't really see this as a business transaction. I thought it could be more like…I don’t know, like one of our operations.” She paused briefly. “Operation…Squirrel.”

“Operation—?” Henry sucked in a breath, and shook his head. “No, Mom. We’re done with the operation bullshit. We’re in negotiation territory now. Feel free to make a counteroffer, but please don’t try to get a free favor of me again. You’ll only embarrass yourself.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “You really are growing up, aren't you?” she remarked, taking his hand. “Making deals…owing favors…talking about hiding bodies. You’re a little psychopath.”

He flashed a smile at her. “Family business.”

 

 

 

 


	64. Chapter 64

Belle hummed to herself, stirring the pot on the stove. The meatballs bobbed amongst the thick, peppery tomato sauce, bubbling pleasantly over the flames. She smiled, tapping the wooden spoon against the pot. Fuck, she was talented.

 _Seriously, though,_ she told herself as she carried the table settings to the dining room. _I am one classy bitch. I mean, I’m smart…beautiful…nice as fuck,_ and _I make the best goddamn meatballs in town. I love being me._

 _“_ Belle?” Rumple’s voice called out musically. “Belle, where are you?”

“Dining room,” she answered, not looking up from her task of trying to identify salad forks from regular forks (they literally looked exactly the same…unless she’d just grabbed a shit ton of salad forks. Or regular forks. Oh, who the fuck cared!)

Rumple strode into the dining room, fixing one of the buttons on his vest. “So, what’s our angle for this dinner?” he asked. “Are we going for trying-to-impress-you-with-how-goddamn-classy-we-are, or casually-rich-and-loving-it?”

“We’re going for, Rumple-is-pretentious-enough-to-wear-a-suit-every-day-so-we-might-as-well-get-fancy,” Belle responded swiftly, moving onto plates.

Rumple pouted. “I thought you liked my suits,” he said, nudging her. 

“I never said I didn’t,” Belle said. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t pretentious. But it’s okay, Rumple—you’re rich. You can afford to be pretentious.”

Rumple raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think there’s a charge for being pretentious,” he remarked. “If there was, Regina wouldn’t be able to afford that big fancy house or that forest hobo she’s harboring there.”

“Not a fan of Robin, I take it?” Belle asked.

“He’s an idiot,” Rumple grimaced. “You know how I feel about idiots.”

“I know how you feel about idiots,” she sighed. 

“Speaking of, how’s your bestie?” Rumple asked with a snarky smile. “Still miserable, I hope? Perhaps threatening suicide?”

“Don’t know, haven't talked to him,” Belle shrugged. “Why?”

“I just know he had his session with Archie today,” Rumple said. “I was hoping it was devastating.”

“Well, I didn't hear anything about it,” Belle said.

“I should call Neal,” Rumple mused. “Hook will have told him every gory detail…and I want them all.” He nodded slowly to himself. “I should call Neal.”

“Invite him over,” Belle suggested, turning around to go back to the kitchen. “We never have any family dinners with him, it’d be nice to have one.”

“It would, wouldn't it?” Rumple said, rubbing his chin. “All right, yeah. I’ll give him a call, guilt him into coming over—“

“Don’t guilt him.”

“That’s the only thing that works on him. I have to.” Rumple pulled out his phone, running his fingers over the keyboard. “I think I’ll go for  the ‘ _never-see-you-since-you-got-a-girlfriend’_ schtick.”

“Be nice!” Belle called after him. “Or he won’t come!”

“I’ve got it handled…”

She listened as his footsteps walked slowly out of the room and scuffed down the hall. “Neal? Hey, how are you?…Good, good. Belle made meatballs, so if you want to come by…Oh, screw Emma, who needs—? _Funny,_ Mr. Jones, very _funny—_ get the hell away from the phone before I jinx you over the line…Neal, come on, I never see you anymore…Yes, I _know_ I just saw you earlier, but that wasn't socially…”

Belle went back to her sauce, stirring dutifully. Sauce had to be monitored carefully, or it would burn. Just like David’s had at the Christmas party because Snow didn't watch it. _Well,_ Belle smiled smugly, _I know better than to abandon my sauce on the stove. Then again, abandonment is probably the only thing David and Snow are good at—ooh, BURN!_ She chuckled at her own joke, then immediately felt horrible.

God, that was a _terrible_ thing to say. 

What the fuck was wrong with her?

 _I might be going to Hell,_ she thought with a frown. _Actually—no, I’m fairly confident I’m going to Hell._

“…if I told you Henry was coming by?” Rumple was saying as he drifted back into the kitchen. “Yeah, I invited him over…Because I like spending time with him, and I like spending time with you…What are you so suspicious for? Am I allowed to care about my grandson? Is that allowed?…I’m not getting defensive—Hook, get away from the goddamn phone, I can hear you breathing! And that’s not only obnoxious, it’s depressing because it means you’re still alive! Stupid bitch.”

“Oi,” Belle frowned.

Rumple lowered the phone with an apologetic smile. “Not you, sweetheart, I was talking about Hook.”

“Oh. Well, that’s okay, then.” She started to turn around, but changed her mind halfway and stretched out her hand for the phone, motioning for him to pass it to her. “Let me talk to Neal a sec.”

“What? No, _I’m_ talking to him.”

“Just let me talk.”

Rumple sighed, but passed the phone over all the same. Belle plucked it out of his fingers and cradled it between her ear and shoulder, so she could multitask.

“Neal?”

“Belle?”

“Hey,” she said. “What’s up?”

“Uh…nothing, really. Dad just called me, and he started saying something about meatballs, but he kinda lost his thread, so…”

“He was supposed to invite you over for dinner,” Belle said. “I made a lot of food, and Henry’s coming over, and I thought it would be nice if we did a family thing. You know, me, Rumple, you, Henry. I suppose I could ask Regina, too, but I don’t know what pregnant chicks eat.”

“Think they just eat normal food.”

“Yeah, I guess…meh, I don’t really want to have Regina over, though. She’s too intense, it disrupts my aura. _Anyway—“_ Belle cleared her throat—“you should drop by.”

“I don’t know…”

“I’ll make Rumple behave,” Belle promised. “Besides, you got better plans?”

“No, but I got Hook here, and he’s really…You know what, screw it. I’ll come over.”

“Neal,” she heard Hook admonish in the background. “You can’t leave me alone, I’m desolate.”

“Let me talk to him,” Belle said swiftly, hearing Neal exhale in exasperation. “I’ll shut him up.”

There was a mumbling over the line, a few scuffling sounds, someone breathing right into the mouthpiece; then, Hook’s voice: “Hello?”

“Stop bitching and let Neal come over,” Belle said directly.

“I want to come, too, then,” Hook countered. “You don’t know the hell I’ve been through today. I need my best mate, you are _not_ taking him from me.”

“Look— I’ve already got the father and the son coming over, so I’d really like the set. So if you could find it in your heart to stop your incessant neediness for just one evening, I’d appreciate it.”

“Do you want to know what I’ve been through today?”

“Frankly, no.”

“Well, then, you’ll just have to trust me that I need Neal. So it’s either both of us, or neither of us.”

“Meet me halfway—I pick one of you. Spoilers—it’s Neal. Tell him to be here by six.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Emma twisted the handle and shouldered open the door to Neal’s apartment, balancing the bag of groceries on her hip. 

“Hey,” she called out, tossing the keys on the table and setting the bag down. “I saw you guys were down to your last jar of olives, so I stopped by the store and got you some—“

“Neal’s not here.”

Emma turned around, frowning at a very morose-looking Hook. “What do you mean, he’s not here?” she said, slapping his hand away as he tried to peek in the bag. “Where is he?”

“Having dinner with his dad,” Hook said flatly. “I was not invited.”

“Well, when is he coming back?”

“Presumably after dinner.”

“And how long is that going to be?”

“I’m not Neal’s personal secretary,” Hook said through clenched teeth. “I don’t _know._ But I’m sure, you and I—should you make the unsavory decision to stay—will have the place to ourselves for several hours.” 

“Ugh.” Emma curled her lip, turning away. _Fucking great._ That’s all she wanted, was an evening alone with Mr.-Third-Wheel. 

Hook tore the paper bag open with his hook, ignoring her exasperated protests, and started picking things up to examine them. “You can leave, you know,” he said.

“I _know_ ,” Emma said witheringly. Technically, she could. Except Henry was over at Belle’s, and now, apparently, so was Neal; and that left her with the options of Hook ( _ugh_ ) and dinner with her parents (double _ugh_ , because there was two of them). God help her, but Hook was actually the better option, in terms of the _ugh_ factor. Mathematically, anyway.

“I’ll stay a while,” she muttered grudgingly, pulling her coat off.

“I beg your pardon?” Hook said disdainfully. 

“I’ll stay a while,” she repeated. “Wait for Neal, watch your T.V… whatever.”

“No!” Hook said, slamming his hand on the table. “I’d rather be _alone_ with my angst this evening, thanks very much!”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Let me guess— you got Ruby coming over for your weekly make-up sex?” 

“Actually, no,” Hook said coldly. “I am currently dealing with some _personal_ conflicts, several of which disturb my relationship with fair Ruby, so sadly, I will not be—“

“Doing disturbing things to her, okay. Good for Ruby.” Emma brushed past him on her way to the couch (none too gently, for good measure). Hook followed her, looking rather indignant.

“You’re not even going to ask me about my personal conflicts?” he demanded.

“I don’t really care about your personal conflicts,” Emma shrugged, swiping the remote off the side table. 

Hook dropped onto the couch beside her, frowning. “I always listen to _your_ personal conflicts.”

“You _are_ my personal conflict,” she said immediately. “See—I’m conflicted over whether I want to slowly poison you and get away with murder, or put an axe through your head and take pride in it.”

“Wow. That got dark, fast.”

“Fast?” Emma sucked in a breath. “No, that’s been simmering for a while, my friend.”

“You’ve been plotting my murder for a while?” Hook said, raising an eyebrow. “How long?”

“Long enough,” she winked.

Hook looked at her for a long time; then closed his eyes, exhaling. “God, I hate you.”

“Aww….” Emma smiled. “I hate you, too.”

“No, seriously. I hate you.”

“Seriously. I hate you, too.” 

“I don’t even know why. I mean, we used to be friends, right? We used to get along.”

“Ish.”

“But I see your face now, and I just…” Hook made a vague  throttling gesture with his hand. “I’m just _filled_ with hate.”

“Got it.”

“It’s almost sad. I’m sure it would be a lot sadder if I didn't hate you so much that I don’t miss being friends with you, but it’s sad.”

“Why are you still talking about this?” Emma said, starting to get a little fed up with him.

“It’s been an emotional day for me, I went to therapy. My brain’s still working on self-reflection mode,” he explained, gesturing vaguely to his head. 

“It must be exhausted.”

“ _Ha. Fucking. Ha._ ” Hook glared at the throw pillow next to him, needling his hook into the small hole in the corner. “You realize, everything fell to shit between us once you started dating Neal.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, drawing back as far as the couch would allow. “What are you implying?” she asked, not entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer. _So help me God, if he’s going to start drudging up that “Choose me, Emma” bullshit again—_

“I’m implying, that you hog Neal.” Hook twisted his head, directing his glare at her now. “Just because you’re his girlfriend now, doesn't mean you get to _have_ him. He’s my best mate, and you take up all his time with all your couple-y bullshit, and I never get more than an hour with him at a time.”

“Oh, _Neal,_ ” Emma exhaled in relief. “Okay…”

“Of course, Neal,” Hook scoffed. “What, did you think this was about _you_ again? Typical. You are _so_ self-centered.”

“Hey,” she said, rather stung. “You’re the one who followed me around for two years, it wasn't that far a leap.”

Hook snorted derisively. “Oh, that…”

“Yes, _that.”_

 _“_ Well, I shouldn't wonder if _that_ was about Neal, too.” 

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Okay, we all know how much you love Neal—“

“I do. He’s the actual best.” Hook looked around the apartment, smiling fondly. “He often jokes about how irritating I am and how tempted he is to smother me in my sleep, but that’s how best mates talk to each other. We say the most horrible things…out of love.”

“I’m sure you two trade the cutest death threats, but I’m fairly confident that two-years-ago was about _me,_ ” Emma said reasonably. “I mean, you were fighting over me _._ You guys made speeches and everything.”

“Here’s the thing, though, love: I makes speeches about _everything._ I once delivered a twenty-minute epic poem dedicated to Ruby’s ankles.”

“Her ankles?” Emma shook her head bewilderedly. “What are you,, like, an ankle-guy?”

“No, she’s just got really pretty ankles. Delicate, you know?”

“Ah.”

“Exquisite. Graceful. Lovely.”

“Oh, God, you’re not reciting the poem, are you?”

“I can, if you—“

“NO.”

“Then stop distracting me!” he huffed. “I keep losing my thread! I’ve got a shit attention span as it is, and with you introducing all these conversational tangents, I’m never going to get my point across! “

“Then shut up about Ruby’s ankles, and fucking _get to it!_ ” she retorted. “Jesus…”

“My _point is,_ I had a little visit with Archie today,” Hook said primly. “Needless to say—but I’ll say it, regardless—it was emotionally devastating and I learned some things about myself. I’ll spare you the intimate details because I hate to see what kind of emotional destruction you’d try to rain down on me with that information in your hands, but basically, I have a very specific profile when it comes to _love._ And you don’t fit, darling.”

He seemed to think this was more than enough explanation: he folded his arms in satisfaction, smirking at her. Emma frowned, feeling rather confused.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “But that doesn't mean—“

“No, no, no, it makes sense,” he insisted. “Think about it:  before the whole Neverland fiasco, did I act _remotely_ in love with you?”

“You made a lot of suggestive remarks.”

“You’re right. I did. I also made a lot of suggestive remarks to Mulan, an obvious lesbian. And Aurora, who I also thought was a lesbian. And Snow, who was a straight-up bitch. Hell, I made suggestive remarks to _David,_ and I’m not even into guys. Not usually. I’m bi-curious, I guess. I’ve done some experimentation—“

“You’re drifting again,” Emma cut through.

“—but like I was saying, suggestive remarks and love are hardly the same thing. You know when I started singing a different tune? Right around the same time that I learned that Neal was Baelfire. _Funny,_ isn't it, how you got a million time more interesting after I found out you were closely connected to him?”

Emma tilted her head, thinking it over. Now that he mentioned it…

She had known that Hook and Neal had a past that existed long before her. She had known that Hook had cared very deeply for Neal and felt protective of him. She had known that they had parted on devastatingly bad terms, and Hook had carried it with him…

…And somehow, it had never occurred to her that Neal had anything to do with Hook’s spontaneous explosion of feelings for her.  She’d never once questioned that she was simply _that_ desirable.

Shit, she really _was_ self-centered, wasn't she?

“But you hit on me all the time,” she argued, rather reluctant to admit to her ego. “And you made so many speeches about love and—“

“If you were at all interested in my personal conflicts,” Hook interrupted, “at this point, you would understand how pathetically desperate for love and attention I am. And desperation clouds the mind…confuses things…And I refuse to be judged by Neverland,” he added, suddenly. “I was upset. I thought Neal was dead, and I’d lost all my chances to make up with him, and to be fair, Emma, you’re still one hot little mamacita. So I made some bad decisions, as I am wont to do, and that’s all I want to hear about it.”

Emma closed her mouth, having opened it in preparation to bring up _exactly_ what he had just said. It was becoming more and more possible that…this love triangle hadn't been about _her._

“So, you’re saying…you got close to me…because I was the closest thing you had to Neal?”

“It seems far more likely than the alternative, doesn't it?” Hook smirked. “I mean, to give it to you straight, Swan, most of the time I can’t fucking stand you.”

“Wow. Don’t hold back or anything.”

“It’s true. Neal is the glue that holds this little trio together, and when he’s not here, things fall apart. He’s the mutual friend, you know?”

“He’s more than just my _friend,_ ” Emma snorted. “I mean, I don’t know what kind of relationship you have with _your_ friends, but I’d say we’re a lot more than just _friends._ ”

“You slut.”

“You’re a slut.”

“I am, but you’re a slut, too.”

“Fine. We’re both sluts.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

 _“Fine._ ” Hook shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know _what_ Neal sees in us.”

“I don’t know what he sees in _you,_ but we’ve kinda got this always-going-to-love-you thing going, so…” Emma clicked her teeth. “That’s probably what he sees in me.”

“Well, there’s no accounting for _taste,_ ” Hook said nastily. 

“No, there’s not,” Emma said, gleaming meaningfully at him. “No. There’s. Not.”

“I loathe you, Swan.”

“Back at you, buddy.”

 

* * *

 

 

Belle beamed around the table at three generations of ‘Stiltskin men (was she allowed to call them “her boys”?): Rumple, Neal, and Henry. It was funny, seeing the similarities between them they didn't even seem to realize they had: Neal and Henry had the same expressions, flickering between bored disdain and silent satisfaction in being the coolest ones in the room; and then, Neal and Rumple had the same crooked smile, the one that flitted across their faces briefly, as if at an inside joke. Henry and Rumple…well, there was something there. They kept glancing over at each other, as if they were in on some secret that no one else in the entire universe was privy to.

“So,” Belle said, picking up her fork. “You boys are awfully quiet. What’s new? What’s interesting?” She took a bite of pasta, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “Henry? How’s school?”

“A major pain in my ass,” Henry said flatly, pushing half a meatball around his plate. “I literally want to murder my entire class.”

“That’s my boy,” Rumple beamed, ignoring Neal’s exasperated, “Dad, really?”

“Why do you want to murder your entire class, Henry?” Belle continued politely, twirling another forkful of pasta. 

“Because it’s high school,” Henry scoffed. “I hate everybody.”

“Oh, Neal, he sounds like you!” Rumple laughed, and leaned across the table to explain to Belle. “When he was Henry’s age, he used to come home every day, muttering about how much he hated all the other children in the village—“

“No, Dad, I used to talk about how they all hated me because you went around turning people into slugs and _stepping_ on them,” Neal said tensely. “Having the Dark One for a father didn't exactly win me a lot of popularity contests.”

“No, it didn’t,” Rumple agreed. “You know what won you those contests?” He pointed at him, and waggled his finger. “Your _charisma._ You’re very charismatic, Neal. You get it from me.”

Neal immediately looked at Belle, his expression clearly saying, _You better say something before I punch him._ Belle forced a smile and cleared her throat, clattering her fork against her plate with unnecessary vigor.

“So, what else is going on?” she said. “Rumple, any interesting customers today?”

“Not really. Bumped into that Lily woman, on my way out from the drugstore,” Rumple said, fishing through his food. “Well—more like, I was _assaulted by_ her. She comes up out of nowhere, starts asking me all these questions about Henry and magic—I told her, I says, ‘Sorry, dearie, but that’s strictly confidential.’ And she goes, ‘Well, you promised me I would get my mother back.’ And I told her, we’re working on it, necromancy is very complicated, blah blah blah…She was very rude, about the whole thing. I didn't care for her demeanor at all. And then—“ Rumple shifted in his seat, looking around the table conspiratorially—“and then, she starts asking me questions about Emma. Asks me, _how serious_ things are between you two,” he added to Neal, whose frown was growing steadily deeper. “And I says, ‘Oh, they’re moving in together’. And she says, ‘Oh, really, I thought he moved in with that other guy, I thought something might have happened’. And I says, ‘No, that’s just the village idiot, he’s homeless’.  And she’s like, ‘Well, why is your son living with the village idiot?’ And I says—“

“Is there an end to this story?” Neal asked the ceiling. 

“ _She_ was the one asking all the questions!” Rumple objected. “I don’t even know this woman, and she starts asking me all these things—“

“She and Emma met when they were kids, running from their social workers or whatever, I don’t know,” Neal said, waving his hand irritably. “They spent a total of seventy-two hours together, but Lily’s convinced they had this _epic romance,_ so… Of course, she hates me.”

Rumple sputtered indignantly. “She _hates_ you? Who could hate you? Everybody loves you! It’s absurd, Neal! Absolutely absurd!”

“Dad—it’s possible that there are people in the world who don’t like me—“

“But how? You’re so charismatic! Why would she _hate_ you?”

“Because I’m dating Emma, and she’s not. It’s okay, though,” Neal said, seeing Rumple’s outraged expression. “It’s a mutual hated between us. And Emma tries to avoid her, so I don’t even have to see her that much.”

“Speaking of Emma,” Belle said quickly, before Rumple could push the subject any further. “How’s the apartment situation? You at least get Henry’s room set up yet?”

Neal cast a sideways look at Henry, who rolled his eyes. “We’re still working on getting Hook to un-invite himself,” he said. “I want to make sure I get some rent money out of him before I kick him out, but he’s broke, so…” He flopped his hand. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll make him my indentured servant or something.”

Rumple and Henry exchanged smirks; and judging from Neal’s weary expression, he didn't really want to discuss Hook anymore. That was fine, Belle reflected. They discussed Hook enough as it was.

“Okay, Henry, your turn again,” she said, going back to her pasta. “You have any plans for this weekend? Anything fun going on?”

“Just resurrecting Regina’s crazy bitch of a mother,” Henry said casually. “Maybe catch a movie with Violet, later on.”

“Henry,” Rumple scolded over Neal’s and Belle’s choking. “What, you want to put it into the town newsletter, too? Jesus Christ…”

“They’re going to find out anyway,” Henry shrugged. “It’s not like we were going to keep it a secret, it’s already public knowledge.”

“Yeah, but you didn't have to just _throw_ that at us,” Belle said, still coughing. “Goddamn it, Henry…”

“I thought—“ Neal coughed again, pounding on his chest—“I thought you guys were still stuck on that whole…magic-thing-whatever with the well.”

“Nope, I think I got it figured out,” Rumple said shortly. “It’s just a matter of gathering the ingredients.”

“Ingredients?” Belle repeated. “Like what?”

Henry dropped his eyes to his plate, mumbling something about “nothing, don’t worry about it”; Rumple’s eyes flickered to Neal before he answered, “Oh, just a few trinkets, nothing to worry about, dear.”

“I’m curious. Humor me.” Belle set down her fork, and propped her chin up with one hand. “Tell me about it, Rumple.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Rumple shrugged. “A portal is only as strong as the magic that surrounds it, so we just need something that can match the strength of the magic we’re trying to pull through.”

“It’s like equilibrium,” Henry said through half a mouthful. “You know, like chemistry? It’s boring, you don’t wanna—“

“I adore chemistry,” she lied. “Neal, don’t you just adore chemistry?”

“Chemistry’s the bomb.” Neal leaned back in his chair, regarding his son suspiciously. “Go on, Henry. Tell us more about the equilibrium.”

“Why?” Henry frowned. “And why are you looking at me like that? I didn't do anything wrong.”

“Because you’re acting like you have. Or like you’re planning to.”

“And you guys are acting really shady about your _ingredients,_ ” Belle added. “What ingredients? You better tell me, because now I’m starting to worry it’s like… _the bloodied carcass of an innocent bunny rabbit_ or something.”

“What kind of magical strength would the bloodied carcass of an innocent bunny rabbit have?” Rumple asked, though he sounded more as if he was genuinely wondering how much he could fetch for the price of a dead bunny. 

“Is there something going on?” Neal asked, moving his gaze between Henry and Rumple. “You’re not going to, like, resurrect an army of zombies and take over the world, are you?”

“No,” Henry said seriously. “That’s _next_ Thursday.”

Rumple snorted into his fist, earning him reproving looks from Neal and Belle. “Oh, come on, you two, get a sense of humor,” he said impatiently.

“Given your track record, I don’t think we’re being unreasonable,” Neal said, narrowing his eyes. “And honestly, now I’m starting to get a little worried about the example you’re setting for Henry.”

“You should be more worried about the example he’s setting for _me,_ ” Rumple scoffed. “That kid is _dark._ ”

“Wow. Thanks, Grandpa. Thanks a lot,” Henry said as Belle and Neal whipped their heads to stare at him. “Crazy old man…He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” he said to the other two, forcing a smile. “He’s confused, senile even. Don’t listen to him.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Henry,” Rumple said. “‘Dark’ is just a very judgmental term for ‘imaginative’.”

“No.” Belle shook her head. “No, Rumple.”

“Please don’t tell the highly impressionable teenager that it’s okay to be dark,” Neal frowned. “He’s going to start setting butterflies on fire and strangling little animals.”

“No, I’m not,” Henry said, just as Rumple laughed, “Well, even if he does, he can resurrect them right after!”

“ _Rumple!_ ”

“Dad, _really?_ ”

“Grandpa, seriously, shut the fuck up.”

“ Why are you three being so uptight? God, can no one make a joke in this house?”

“Because you’re going to turn my kid into a psychopath!” Neal said wildly. 

“He’s _already_ a psychopath!” Rumple argued. 

“I’m not a psychopath—“

“Oh, yes, you are!” 

Neal threw his head in his hands, exhaling in frustration. “Belle, can I talk to you in the hall for a second?” he said through his teeth.

Belle swallowed. She didn't know why she felt so nervous, _she_ didn't do anything wrong; but there was something very formidable about angry Neal. “Uh…yeah,” she managed. “Yeah, let’s—let’s go.”

She got up from the table, Neal following her after a minute, his feet shuffling closely behind her pointy heels as she lead the way to the hall. She turned around, making sure to position herself so that she could still keep an eye on Henry and Rumple. Neal glanced over his shoulder at the, as if by reflex, and turned back to her with raised eyebrows.

“Okay, so…I’m kinda getting freaked out,” he said in a low voice. “Dad seems to be encouraging this side of Henry that, frankly, disturbs me. And all this magic stuff they’re playing around with—“

“No, I know,” Belle said. “Rumple’s a little _too_ eager to teach him. I mean, he says he’s clean, but I don’t know what goes on when they’re together.”

“Bad things, it seems,” Neal grimaced. “I don’t like the effect they’re having on each other. An addict and a burgeoning psychopath…It’s like the bromance from Hell.”

“Mmm,” Belle murmured in agreement. She tilted her head, considering Henry and Rumple as she watched them engage in a whispered debate, presumably over whatever magic they had planned for the portal. “Still, I’ve never seen them spend so much time together before.”

“Great,” Neal said shortly. “They’re bonding. It’s adorable. And when they start plotting world destruction together, we should make a scrapbook.”

“Sarcasm is a great color on you, Neal. Really.”

“I’m nervous!” he hissed. “I have to leave tomorrow, and I don’t want to come home to _the Dark One—_ “ he flipped his hands mockingly—“with his sidekick, Voldemort Jr., ruling Storybrooke with an iron fist!”

“I’ll watch him, okay?” Belle snapped. “I’ll take care of it—you just go to New York and get your shit done!”

Neal looked unconvinced, shifting nervously on his feet and rolling his sleeves back. “I don’t know. Maybe I should stay—maybe I should—“

“ _Go,_ ” Belle said firmly. “I will keep an eye on Rumple, and Henry… I don’t know. I’ll figure out something.”

“Oh, gee, that’s a comfort.”

“Great fucking color on you. Really brings out your eyes.”

 


	65. Chapter 65

 

Whale stumbled through the front door, nearly tripping over his aching feet. He was so _exhausted…._ ugh, and he had to go back in four hours. Working in a hospital was really fulfilling and all, but he would be lying if he said he hadn't considered pulling the plug on a few people, just so he could get some rest. 

Yawning widely, he ran his hand over the wall, fumbling for the light switch. He was going to make a nice pot of coffee, have a solid meal of Cocoa Puffs, and then sleep for as long as—

“ _Gah!”_

“Hello, Victor.”

Whale clutched his chest, staring with wide eyes at a morose-looking Graham seated at the kitchen table. “W-w-what are you doing?” he asked breathlessly. “Jesus Christ, Graham, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“No, Victor; that artificial fried crap you eat nearly gave you a heart attack,” Graham said with a dejected sigh. “I don’t know why a _doctor,_ of all people, insists on eating that rubbish. When are you going to try one of my egg white omelets?”

“When are you going to stop nagging me about egg white omelets?” Whale countered, pulling out the chair next to him. “What’s going on? Why are you all…mopey and shit?”

“I’m not mopey, I’m just…” Graham bit his lip. “I’m having a small mental crisis.”

“Okay,” Whale frowned. “What’s the crisis?”

“No, no,” Graham said, shaking his head. “You’re tired, I don’t want to bother you—”

“Graham,” Whale said impatiently. “I’m tired, so just get to the point. What’s the crisis?”

“Just…” He exhaled heavily, running a hand over his curls.

His luscious curls.

His luscious, caramel-colored curls that looked _so_ soft; framing that innocent angel-face with smoldering eyes. Smoldering eyes that went so well with those strong shoulders…those abs, those _rock-hard abs…_

 _Jesus,_ Whale  thought, shaking his head. _Am I gay or what?_  

“…Emma and Henry kept asking me questions, and I was just, like, ‘Where did all this come from?’ But they’re pelting me with questions, like, ‘Are you two doing it?’ and ‘Are you going out?’ and I’m like, ‘We’re just friends!’, but they’re insisting that we’re gay—“

“Wait, wait, wait,” Whale said, holding up his hand. “Who’s gay? What are we talking about?”

“Me and Jefferson,” Graham said exasperatedly. “God, Victor, have you been listening to me at all?”

“Yeah, I just…” Whale scratched behind his ear, trying to ignore the jealous little voice in his head saying, _Jefferson? What is this Jefferson bullshit?_ “S-so why were they asking about Jefferson? I thought you guys were…friends.”

“We _are_ friends,” Graham said. “But I just _had_ to mention that we were going for coffee, and then Henry got involved, and he was like, ‘Oh, isn't this the friend that tried to kiss you?’ And then Emma started in on me, and now she’s irritated that I didn't tell her I was gay because _we could have talked about so much—_ “

“So, you _are_ gay?”

“No!” Graham cried. “No, I’m not gay! I mean, do I think Jeff is an attractive guy? Sure! Do I want to have sex with him? No!” 

“Okay, so—“

“I mean, _maybe,_ if I got drunk enough. I could be persuaded, I suppose.” Graham gave his head a little shake. “Okay, clearly I’m sleep-deprived. I don’t know where _that_ came from.”

“Maybe from latent homosexuality.”

“What?”

“What?” 

Graham frowned. “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘What?’”

“No, before that.”

“Nothing.”

“No, you said _something._ What was it?”

“I don’t know,” Whale exhaled. “It’s nothing, Graham, just forget it.”

“Something about latent homosexuality?”

“Yeah, I just meant… Never mind.”

It was an awkward subject to discuss: someone’s else sexual-identity journey. If Graham was gay, he was gay; if he was straight, he was straight; if he was bi or pan or demi or whatever else there was, then that’s what he was. But that was _Graham’s_ self-discovery, not Whale’s; and frankly, he wasn't sure that their relationship was progressed enough for him to involve himself. They only _lived_ together. It wasn't like they were married…or dating…or even all that close. They were roommates. 

Who occasionally saw each other shirtless.

Who occasionally _enjoyed_ seeing each other shirtless. 

At least, Whale did ( _rock-hard abs!)_. Because Graham probably didn't even think of Whale like that. He probably wasn't even gay. 

Well, maybe he was. Maybe he was gayer than Elton John in a rainbow suit riding a pink, fluffy unicorn. 

Maybe he was gay for Jefferson.  

 _Is that jealousy, I detect?_ a snide voice asked in the back of his mind. 

 _What?_ Whale scoffed. _No…_

 _I think…_ yes.

Whale chose to ignore the voice, humming over it with “Mr. Sandman”(it was stuck in his head, but it was such a dapper little song, he didn't mind). “Sounds like you could benefit from some personal time,” he said to Graham, getting up from the table. “You’ve clearly got a lot to figure out, so I’m just going to leave you to it and go to bed—“

“Victor!” Graham shot his hand out and gripped his elbow, looking at him pleadingly. “Please! I-I _need_ you.”

Whale tried to ignore the backflips his stomach was performing, but the words “I need you” kept echoing in his head. He _needed_ him? What did that _mean?_ There were so many ways to take that!

He hovered on his feet, caught between the urge to sit down and let Graham confide every last detail of his anxiety, and the instinct to flee and maintain that careful platonic-ness between them. 

“For what?” he asked finally. “Come on, you know I’m not good at this stuff. I don’t know how to be sensitive, Graham. I’m a firm believer in eating your feelings.”

“I can’t be alone! I’m too confused to be alone right now!”

“See…” Whale carefully pried his hand off his elbow. “You’re confused, so you _should_ be alone right now. Let yourself figure things out.”

“Victor…”

“Trust me,” Whale said. “You sit there long enough, realization will come around and kick you in the ass.”

Graham looked at him helplessly. “But what if I realize that I’m basically dating Jefferson?” he asked. “Especially after I made a deal out of him trying to kiss me and all?”

“Then you guys have a great meet-cute story,” Whale shrugged. “In the meantime, I’m going to get some sleep. I’ve only got four hours before I have to pretend I care about the people of Storybrooke.”

 

* * *

 

 

Regina grimaced at the pain in her back, and irritably jerked the covers up to her chin. Robin exhaled, and with great deliberation, tugged them back.

“You’re hogging the blanket, my love,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I’m freezing. More importantly, our _daughter_ is freezing.” Regina yanked the blanket back, and held it tightly in her fists. 

“Regina, honestly!” Robin snapped. “It’s ten degrees, tops! Are you really going to do this now? Do you _want_ me to freeze to death?”

“How about a fireball?” Regina spat. “That should warm you up, just fine!”

“Argh!” Robin threw back the covers, fighting the sheets twisted around his leg and—“ _Shit!”—_ went sprawling out of the bed.

Regina immediately took the opportunity to bundle the blankets around her and burrow  against her pillow; meanwhile, Robin was still muttering and growling under his breath as he fumbled to a stand.

“Wha— _really?_ ” he demanded. 

“Get out of my bedroom,” Regina said, keeping her eyes firmly closed. “I have an entire town to run, I need my sleep. And I can’t keep growing an entire person with you bitching in my ear and stealing my blankets—I need to focus.”

“Are you _kidding_ me?”

“Robin!” she snapped, whirling around. “Be useful! Go get me ice cream with pork rinds!”

Robin stared at her as if she’d gone completely mad. “But you _loathe_ pork rinds!” 

“Yeah, well, _she_ doesn’t!” Regina shot back, pointing at her stomach. “Now, hurry up, before I set off an explosion!”

“Pregnancy cravings are grounds for an explosion now?” Robin scoffed. “Sometimes, I really think you milk this Baby-Witch-thing for more than it’s worth.”

Regina’s eyebrows rose at his impudence. “Excuse me, but where exactly is this attitude coming from?” she demanded. “I must say, Robin: I find your spontaneous boldness both disturbing and _extremely_ distasteful!”

“It’s four in the morning, Regina!” Robin spat. “Forgive me, but I’m not a middle-of-the-night person!”

“Well, you better get used to it!” Regina said. “Because this child is going to be waking up in the middle of the night, and I’m going to be depending on you to help—“

“I KNOW HOW TO TAKE CARE OF A BABY, REGINA!”

“Awfully hard to sleep with all the YELLING!”

Robin glared at her, and snatched his pillow off the bed. “I’m sleeping on the couch!” 

“Fine!” Regina scoffed. “Sleep on the couch! Like I give a damn where you sleep!”

“You are an _impossible_ woman!”

“And you’re an imbecile!”

“Well, it’s _four o’clock in the bloody morning—“_

 _“_ Quarter after, actually! And you still haven't gotten me my pork rinds and ice cream, _imbecile!”_

Robin made a strangled noise, as if choking on his own rage. “Marian was _never_ this tyrannical!” he shouted. “That woman was a saint, pregnant or not! And you, Regina—you’re a holy terror!”

Regina’s eyes widened at the _M-_ word. “That’s it!” she flared, slamming her hands down. “You’re sleeping on the couch!”

“I already _knew_ that!” he snapped, and flourishing his pillow behind him like a diva does her fur coat, he stalked out of the room. Regina glared as the door slammed behind him, and furiously threw herself under the covers again.

She lay there for a moment, utterly still and seething with rage. How _dare_ he! She was _pregnant—_ you weren't allowed to yell at _pregnant_ ladies! She was a fucking vessel for Life here, goddamn it! 

“ASSHOLE!” she shouted viciously.

Robin’s voice was muffled, but she was fairly confident he returned an appallingly rude retort—definitely not one for children’s ears. Regina protectively put her hands on either side of her stomach.

“Don’t you _ever_ repeat that,” she said sternly; then immediately felt ridiculous. Dr. Whale had shown her the charts and diagrams, given her books on the exact physiology of pregnancy—essentially, taught a crash course of everything he knew about babies and mothers (surprisingly, very little, for a doctor, even if he _was_ only a surgeon). And from what she knew, it was still a good six or seven weeks before the fetal blob of tissue could hear anything.

 The baby couldn't _hear._

So who was she talking to?

 _Wait…_ she frowned, struck by a sudden thought. _Baby can’t hear…but she can do magic?_ All those explosions—random spells—the little fireballs—how was she pulling it off? Regina was hardly an expert, but she was pretty sure that the baby was basically a pinto bean with half a spinal cord. Was that even enough of a person to be able to do magic at all?

 _Unless Hopper’s right, and all that “magic” you’re going on about is really just hormones,_ a voice suggested reasonably in the back of her mind (it sounded annoyingly like Dr. Whale’s). _It’s possible, Regina._

 _Shut up, Victor,_ she said witheringly.

 _Excuse me?_ The voice was confused. _I…don’t know a Victor._

 _Well, fine, who are you, then?_ she snapped.

 _I…don’t know. I’m…_ The voice paused, then continued in a patronizing tone: _You—you_ do _know I’m not real, right? That I’m not actually a voice in your head? This is just how you’re choosing to process—_

_SHUT UP, I’M PREGNANT, MY HORMONES ARE THROWING ME OFF, WHAT’S YOUR EXCUSE?_

_I don’t need one. Again…I’m not_ real. 

Regina let out a frustrated shout, and sat bolt upright, throwing a handful of flames at the opposite wall. Instantly, the wallpaper burned red, sparks scattering as the fire burrowed through the wall. 

“Shit!” Regina stared at the wall, wondering what on _earth_ had possessed her to do something like _that._ She quickly waved her hand to banish the flames, leaving a still-smoking blackened hole in the wall; and slowly lowered her arm, her eyes still wide and staring.

There was a hole in her wall.

A random fireball had burned a hole in her wall. She hadn't been thinking it or planning—hadn’t even taken a split second to conceptualize it. She’d simply felt, reacted, and burned a hole in her wall. 

She put a hand to her stomach. “That wasn't you, was it?” she whispered. 

There was no response; only silence. Then—

 _Wait, are you talking to_ me _? Because I thought we established I was a construct of your imagination, so I don’t—_

“Oh, my God, shut up!” Regina said exasperatedly. 

_I’m not real, and yet you keep talking to me. I’m worried._

“Oh, really? Well, you’re not real, and you keep talking in general!”

 _Good point. Except, since I’m a construct of_ your _imagination, I’m still worried. Which means,_ you’re _worried. Which means, what’s bothering you, Regina?_

“ _You’re_ bothering me!”

Someone rapped sharply on the door. “Regina?” Robin’s voice said, slightly muffled. “Are you all right? I heard voices.”

“Go. _Away,_ ” she said through clenched teeth. 

Robin opened the door anyway, poking his head in with a concerned look on his face. “What’s going on? I heard you shouting, but I wasn't even in the room, so I thought…” A suspicious look overtook his face. “Was there a _burglar_ or something?”

“No, there wasn't a _burglar,_ ” Regina said witheringly, knowing exactly what he was implying. “I’m angry, and sleep-deprived, and strange things are happening inside my head right now, but there’s no _burglar.”_ She gave him a sour look, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t you have a couch pillow to cry into?”

Robin raised his eyebrows coolly. “You want me to fetch you those pork rinds first?” he said.  “Served with…ice cream, wasn't it?”

“No, thank you.” Regina held her head high, trying to retain as much dignity as possible in the face of her pork-rind craving. “You can leave now.”

Robin smiled sarcastically. “Sleep well, my Queen,” he said, taking the door handle. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

“My house does not have _bugs,_ ” Regina scoffed. “I exterminate bimonthly.”

“Old habits die hard,” Robin said nastily. 

Regina’s eyes narrowed. “And what is _that_ supposed to mean?” she asked.

“Nothing, my love. Who mentioned anything about village massacres?”

The door shut behind him: not slammed this time, but with an infuriating deliberation that made her want to rip his head off. As it was, she found her hand curling into a clawed fist, sparks building in her palm—

 _“Stop!”_ she admonished herself, quickly putting it out. She gave her head a little shake, trying to clear it, and shifted back to her side. The voice in her head had (mercifully) shut up, but she still couldn't help her mind wandering back to Archie’s words from the party:

“ _Please don’t tell me you’re trying to use this child as a scapegoat for your emotional instability.  I’m still recommending you come in for anger management, regardless of who’s fault you think it is.”_

She’d already agreed to consider giving the anger management a chance, but she and Archie both knew that was hardly something she was going to commit to. Maybe for the first few weeks, just to humor him, but group therapy was simply _not_ Regina’s style. But private counseling…?

 _I can’t go to private counseling,_ she scoffed. _Hook goes to private counseling. I’m not like Hook._

 _But, like Hook, you’re clearly sick in the head,_ the voice said gently. _You keep pulling magic, and you don’t even realize you’re doing it. It’s like you have pregnancy-influenced dissociative identity._

Regina frowned. _Is that even a thing?_

_Probably not. It sounded smart, and you tend to intellectualize things._

_Yes,_ she mused. _I do that…._

_Should you call Archie?_

_I always say I’m going to call Archie, I never do it,_ she thought, shaking her head. _But everybody says that. It’s really more of a figure of speech, in this town._

_Okay, but the fireballs are becoming a problem._

_That’s true, but if Robin didn't have a sass-attack in the middle of the night, I wouldn't have gotten upset. So this is really his fault._

_You externalize blame a lot, did you notice that? It’s always someone else’s fault. “I didn't do that, it was Baby Witch.” “Robin made me upset, it’s his fault.” “Snow told Cora about Daniel, it’s not my fault I had to avenge him and curse the whole kingdom.”_

Regina closed her eyes, burying her face into the pillow. _Shut up, Victor._

_Please stop calling me “Victor”._

_Stop psychoanalyzing me._

_Actually, like I’ve told you at least three times now,_ you _created me. So_ you’re _psychoanalyzing. So there’s really no need to get an attitude with me, is there?_

Regina slowly opened her eyes, glaring at the digital clock: _4:27 a.m.,_ the analog numbers flashed. That was three and a half hours before she had to get up. Three and a half hours of no sleep, because how did you tell your own head to shut up?

Especially since, that voice…kinda had a point.

 

* * *

 

 

David cracked his eyes open: it was still dark, and his vision was fuzzy with that familiar middle-of-the-night exhaustion, but something had woken him up. He listened for a minute, his fingers slowly traveling to the holster that lay on the dresser next to him. There was… _something._ He couldn't put his finger on it, but something was out of place, something was—

_Creak!_

He flung himself out of bed, startling Snow awake. “David!” she gasped. “What? What is it?”

“Someone’s downstairs,” he muttered, loading the gun with a decisive _click! “_ Don’t move. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, crawl out the fire escape and tap on Neal’s window.”

Snow stared at him with wide eyes. “It’s _Storybrooke_ ,” she said. “Who’s going to break in here that you need a gun _?_ David, you haven't touched that thing in weeks—do you even still know how to use it?”

“Just because I can julienne-slice peppers to perfection now, doesn't mean I forgot how to be a cop,” he frowned. 

“David—”

He put a finger to his lips, and toed the door open.  Snow threw her hands up exasperatedly as he lifted the gun with both hands (“ _Stupid,”_ he heard her curse under her breath, but he didn't have time to respond when there was a possible burglar—or worse—in the house).

Slowly, he stepped out: knees bent, ready to run after a perpetrator; slightly ducking in anticipation of attack. There were footsteps downstairs, now shuffling freely around the kitchen.  Someone was definitely in the house—and apparently hungry, David thought, as he heard the fridge door swing open. 

Ignoring the the stray logical thought that floated through his head ( _Would a burglar really stop to make a snack?)_ , he silently moved down the stairs, raising his gun. Even through the hazy darkness, he could see a tall, skinny shadow moving around the kitchen. David’s eyes widened: the burglar!

“HANDS IN THE AIR!” he shouted, leaping from the stairs. A bowl clattered to the ground as a girl shrieked, scrabbling backward. David immediately flipped the switch, keeping his gun trained on—

He frowned, dropping his hands. “Ruby?”

“David!” Ruby gasped, putting a hand to her heart. “Jesus Christ, what’s _wrong_ with you?”

“I had someone break into my house, I’m a little on edge!” he said heatedly. “Ruby, what are you _doing?_ ”

“You have a gun _?_ ” she said, looking at him incredulously. “David, you pulled a _gun_ on me?”

“You broke into my house!” 

“You pulled a gun on me!”

“ _You broke into my house!”_

“I didn't break in, I picked the lock!” Ruby snapped. “I _snuck_ into your house!”

“Why?” David said, throwing his arms up helplessly. “Why did you have to sneak into my house? You have your own house!”

“Because I….” Ruby faltered, shifting between her feet; she dropped her head and mumbled something about Granny.

David frowned, leaning forward to hear her better. “Granny did what now?”

“She didn't do anything, she’s just…” Ruby exhaled. “She’s just being Granny. Like, I’m really glad we’re not fighting and stuff now, because I love her and shit, but now she’s just being really annoying and I needed to…not be around her.”

David raised an eyebrow. “At four in the morning? You needed to not be around her at _four_ in the _morning_?”

“I can hear her breathing,” Ruby said, a faraway look of venom in her eyes. “Breathing, snoring….inhale, exhale…so loud…all night long.” Her fist tightened. “ _All. Night. Long._ ”

David took a cautious step back, a little unnerved by the murderous glint in her eyes. “Granny _is_ still breathing, right?”

“Yes,” Ruby glowered at him. “I’m not going to kill her after we just made up. And I told you, I love her and shit.”

“Okay,” David said, not altogether convinced. He pulled out a chair, pushing the one across from it with his foot. “But maybe you want to sit down…talk through some of those frustrations before you go home, so Granny _keeps_ breathing.”

“I don’t want to talk, I want pie,” Ruby said. “Point me in the right direction, and I’ll be on my way.”

“But I’m legally obligated to prevent you from what I suspect is a potentially fatal situation,” David said, gently pulling her down to a seat. “You had wolfs time—what was it? A few days ago? Your emotions—“

“Are no worse than usual,” Ruby frowned. “And I had wolfs time over a week ago, David, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I also have Resting Bitch Face Syndrome.”

David shrugged, a skeptical smile on his face. “I’m still here, in case you want to just kvetch about your grandmother. I know you want to, Ruby.”

“Mmmm….nope. Nope, not really.”

“Then why are you _really_ here?” A horrible thought crossed David’s mind. “Oh, God. You weren’t…you weren't gathering props or anything, were you?”

“Props?” she repeated, knitting her brow. 

“You know, for…” David shifted uncomfortably, and lowered his voice. “ _Lovemaking._ ”

“For _what_?” Ruby looked severely disturbed, staring at him with wide eyes. “Eww, David, did you just say that?”

“I did,” he said, feeling rather sick now. “But I know that Hook’s a few doors down, and you two have a tendency—“

“No!” Ruby said, looking horrified. “David, stop—stop talking! Stop talking _now!_ ”

“—I understand you guys have needs, but enough is enough—“

“David, _please!”_ Ruby begged. “ _Stop!”_

David closed his mouth with a grimace, feeling his stomach roil. Ruby was something of a little sister to him. He’d always felt protective of her, and seeing her behave in … _certain ways_ greatly disturbed him. Yeah, she was an adult, and yeah, she could make her own choices and all that—but that didn't stop him from feeling sick when thoughts about what went on between Hook and Ruby threatened the edge of his mind. It was like a lesser version of knowing that certain things went on between Emma and Neal.

“Okay,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “I was just saying…”

“Well, _don’t,_ ” Ruby said, looking rather ill herself. “I can’t talk about this with you!”

“I’m actually really happy about that.”

“Besides,” she said, “you saw what happened at the party. You really think I’m such a slut that I’d completely disregard all that, just to get _laid?_ ”

“Oh,” David frowned. “I thought that was just an elaborate roleplay.”

Ruby’s eyebrows shot up. “You thought what?”

“Like, it was something you guys did, so you could—” David coughed into his fist “—make up later.”

“…No.”

“Okay.” David nodded, somewhat relieved. “Okay, that’s good to hear.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. David awkwardly picked at his nails while Ruby shifted her gaze around, exhaling. 

“So,” she said finally. “How about that pie?”

“Pie?” 

“Yes. Pie. I came for pie. I require pie.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” David cocked his head, lifting a skeptical eyebrow.“You sure this is really about pie? You sure you don’t actually want to talk about the Granny drama?”

“Not really. I just want pie.”

“At four in the morning?”

“Girls get weird cravings on their period,” Ruby said flatly. “You really want to keep talking about this, David?”

“Wait, you’re…?” He frowned, feeling confused. “But I thought you had wolfs time over a week ago.”

“I did.”

“So—you had wolfs time…and now you have your—“ he waved his hand—“lady situation?”

“Menstruation and lycanthropy are two completely different afflictions,” Ruby deadpanned. “I can give you all the excruciating details, of course—“

“You know what, that’s okay!” he said quickly. 

Ruby flicked her eyes derisively, and stood up from her chair. “I have to go,” she said. “Forget pie—I need my sleep. I have to talk to Hook in a few hours, and we all know how exhausting _that_ is.”

David wrinkled his nose. “That’s not a euphemism, is it?”

“Oh, my God— _David_!” Ruby whined, hitting him. “Stop making everything weird!”

“I’m making things weird?” he scoffed, twisting around to stare after her as she stalked out the door. “You broke into my house at four in the morning for _pie! That’s_ weird!”

The door slammed shut behind her. David shrugged defensively, turning back around in his seat.

“No one breaks in for pie,” he grumbled to himself. “Who the hell commits a felony for _pie?”_

 


	66. Chapter 66

Hook wandered into the diner tentatively, peeking around the corner. Ruby looked up at the sound of the bell.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” she said, and started weaving her way around the counter. “I almost thought you weren’t—“ she stopped, frowning at him. “Why is your hair all wet?”

“I woke up late,” he shrugged. “And Neal finds that ice water is a much more effective means of waking me up, as opposed to a gentle nudge or simply buying a _functioning_ alarm clock, so…”

“You walked outside in this weather with wet hair?”

“You walked outside in this weather in that outfit?”

Ruby gave him a withering look, even as she self-consciously crossed her arms over her very  low-cut shirt. “You know, those vests are meant to be worn _over_ a shirt—not as a replacement,” she said. 

“Yes, but I’m a whore, and I don’t care,” Hook scoffed. “What’s your excuse?”

“I’m working for tips in a bar that a lot of guys and lesbians frequent.”

“…Right.” 

Ruby twitched a smile, as if she couldn't help it.“Jefferson gave me the job.”

“Good,” Hook nodded. “You deserve it. You’re _way_ hotter than Vince.”

Ruby nodded, looking as though she wasn't quite sure what to say. “So, you, uh—“ she coughed into her fist—“you want to sit?”

“Sit?” he echoed.

“Yeah. Sit.” Ruby raised her eyebrows. “You know—so we can talk?”

“Talk?”

“I thought that was the whole purpose of this,” she frowned. “You called me, and said you needed to talk to me, so…?”

“Yeah, but you said you needed to talk to me, too,” Hook pointed out. “So…you know.”

Ruby shook her head.  “I’m confused. Do you want to talk, or don't you?”

“I don’t _want_ to, but I have to. Not—not that I don’t want to _talk_ to you,” Hook said quickly, seeing the offended look on her face. “I just don’t want to talk about this.”

“What?”

“What?”

“What don't you want to talk about?”

“About _this._ ”

“About what?” she said exasperatedly. “We haven't talked about anything!”

“About what I have to talk to you about!” Hook said frustratedly. “It’s an awkward situation!”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to _you_ about!” Ruby said, throwing her arms up. “The awkward situation!”

“What awkward situation?” he demanded. “I know _I_ have an awkward situation, but what’s your awkward situation?”

“You _know_ about the awkward situation! I thought that’s what you wanted to talk about!”

Hook stared at her. “What are you _talking_ about?”

“Hook—“ Ruby exhaled, closing her eyes. “This is getting ridiculous. Let’s just sit down, so we can talk.”

“I don’t want to sit down if I don’t know what you want to talk about,” Hook said nervously. “As soon as we sit, that’s it: we have to have the conversation, and stay until it’s over. As long as we remain standing, there’s always the option of escape.”

“Would you feel more comfortable having an escape option?” Ruby asked through clenched teeth.

“I would feel safer.”

“ _You_ were the one who called in the first place. If anyone should be pushing anyone to sit and talk, it should be _you_ to _me.”_

Hook looked at her for a long time, taking in the fierceness of her dark eyes, the tension in her jaw; the expression of mingled exasperation, amusement, and utter bewilderment that always graced her delicate features around him (although, he had that effect on most people). “I’m going to miss this,” he sighed. 

“Miss…?” Ruby frowned, tilting her head. 

“ _This._ You and me, arguing in circles, getting frustrated with each other because we can’t remember what the hell we’re even arguing about.” Hook smiled sadly. “I wish I could hold onto this moment for forever, instead of just the next sixty seconds. It’s not nearly enough time.”

“Enough time for what?” Ruby said bewilderedly. 

“I’m going to New York,” he said abruptly. “Today.”

Ruby stared at him for a moment, then blinked rapidly. “You’re going to New York?”

“Yes.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Just like that?” she croaked. “You’re…you’re really going?”

“I’m really going.”

She looked at him with desperate eyes, glinting with growing tears. “But I thought…” Her voice trailed off to a whisper. 

Hook twitched a frown. She was taking this much harder than he’d thought, and he hadn't even gotten to the real news yet. Would she really miss him that much? It was flattering, he supposed, but very unlike Ruby to be so—

She startled him by throwing her arms his neck, hugging him tightly. “Please don’t go,” she whispered in his ear. “You don’t have to leave.”

Hook hesitantly put his hand on her back, feeling extremely confused. Where was this reaction coming from? “It’s only for a few days, love.”

“Wait, it’s—“ Ruby dropped her arms, pulling back to frown at him. “It’s only for a few days?”

“Yeah, I’m…” Hook looked at her strangely. “I’m going with Neal to get his stuff from the New York apartment— _ow!_ ” he exclaimed as she cracked her hand across his face. “What the bloody hell was that for?”

“You jerk, you made it sound like you were disappearing off the face of the earth!” she snapped. “You’re hanging out with Neal? That’s the big news? You do that every day, you _asshat!”_

 _“_ I’m sorry, I should have clarified.” Hook touched his hand to the stinging mark on his cheek. “Although, I think _that_ was a little uncalled for.”

“Yeah, well…” Ruby folded her arms, shrugging. “Don’t scare me like that.”

His heart melted a little, the sad smile faintly reappearing on his face. “It would have scared you if I left for good?” he asked, touched. “That’s so sweet, Ruby.”

“Whatever.” Absently, she reached out, trailing her fingers lightly against the red mark on his skin. “Sorry,” she said, seeing him wince. 

“It’s okay, I’ll live.”

“No, I mean—the other day. At the party.” Ruby pressed her lips together tightly, as if bracing herself for her next words. “I…I may have overreacted.”

Hook raised his eyebrows. Apologies from Ruby were about as rare as magic beans: he was usually the one who ended up apologizing. Although, that was probably because he was usually the one putting his foot in his mouth and saying something offensive or insensitive. 

“Listen, if we’re not going to sit, can we at least go off to the side or something?” Ruby shifted her eyes around uncomfortably at the other customers.

Hook nodded, and followed her to the more secluded corner by the jukebox. Oh, this corner… so many memories. Good memories. _Very_ good memories, actually. He’d come to think of this as “their” corner, although if he was going to refer to it as “theirs”, he’d also have to adopt Suites 2A through 3B, the third stall in the women’s bathroom, and Regina’s linen closet as “theirs”. 

Ruby folded her arms, half-perched against the jukebox. “So…”

“So…?”

“About the whole… _thing…_ ” She tucked her hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture, and flicked her eyes up at him. “I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, but I just—I want you to understand, I wasn't really mad at you. I mean, I was, but only a little bit, not as much as I made it out to be. See, I had this long talk with Tony—“

“I’m sorry. Did you just say, you had a long talk with _Tony?_ ”

“Yeah, Tony.”

“As in—” Hook raised his eyebrows, jutting his thumb toward the kitchen—“ _Tony,_ Tony? _My-cooking-is-a-biohazard-_ Tony?”

“Am I being judged by the guy who asks _Neal Cassidy_ for advice on _feelings?_ ”

“Fair enough. Continue.”

“I had a long talk with Tony,” she repeated. “And I’ve been doing a lot of thinking…a lot of kicking myself…and a lot of _not_ kicking myself.”

“Not kicking yourself?”

“Hey, come on,” she said, giving him a look. “This is partly your fault.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Don’t _Mmm-hmm_ me,” Ruby warned. “That really wasn't fair, what you did to me.”

“You fell asleep,” Hook said slowly. “I woke you up. You lost your shit.”

“Because no one knows whether or not to take you seriously when you say things!” she said exasperatedly. “For all I knew, you were _actually_ proposing!”

“Rubbish. I’d’ve been ridiculously more romantic about it,” he sniffed. 

Ruby frowned at him. “Well, almost throwing an _I-love-you_ in there didn't help things, either.”

That was fair. And honestly, he was angry with himself, over that: after all those weeks of carefully side-stepping the _L-_ word _…”Bull in a china shop”_ was the most polite way to describe the situation. 

“I’ll admit, it was not the proper venue to start voicing that,” he said grudgingly. “I could have been a tad more delicate.”

“Yeah,” Ruby sighed. “But…I didn't handle it well either. I flipped out, and I’m sorry that it just exploded all over you, but—” she gave a helpless shrug— “I’m screwed up, okay?”

“Don’t say that. You’re not screwed up,” Hook lied. “You’re…fiery.”

“No,” she frowned. “Flying into hysterics isn't _fiery,_ Hook. It’s something I would report to a therapist when asking for anti-psychotics.”

“What, you want to see screwed up?” he scoffed. “ _I’m_ screwed up. I’m the king of screw-ups. Fuck that, I’m the _Olympian Lord and Master_ of Screw-Ups.

Ruby raised her eyebrows. “You seem determined to beat me at this.”

“Trust me, darling,” he sighed, reflecting on his last session with Archie. “I’ve already won.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But I digress. We were talking about _your_ mental illness. Please, continue.”

“There’s not much to tell. Well, there is, but…” Ruby poked the tips of her fingers together, dawdling. “See…thing is, I…I’ve never really had, like, a _legit_ boyfriend. I mean, I did once…A long time ago.” 

“Bad break-up?”

“Oh, yeah,” she nodded emphatically. “It was… it was vicious.” Ruby paused, carefully avoiding his gaze. “I’ve told you about Peter before, right?”

Hook frowned, cocking his head. “Mmm, I know _a_ Peter, but I’m guessing he’s a different Peter than your Peter. ‘Cause I’m thinking of Peter Pan, and I’m _pretty_ sure he made that name up—“

“Different Peter,” Ruby said, shaking her head. 

“Then no. No, you haven't told me about him.” Hook examined his fingernails, hoping he sounded casual when he asked, “So, was this Peter guy, like…like, one of those true-love-thingies that Snow and David go on and on and on about?”

Ruby shrugged as if to say, _How should I know?_ “We were friends since we were kids, and then it kinda became something else, and then—“she coughed into her fist—“and then he died, and it was kinda my fault, so it…it really screwed me up.”

“That…sucks.” Hook scratched the back of his head, trying to think something comforting to say. “If it makes you feel any better….it was pretty much my fault when my brother died. Well—no, actually.” He frowned, wondering why he’d just said that. After all, it wasn't _his_ fault that Liam scratched himself with dreamshade. In fact, he distinctly remembered telling him _not_ to do that, but boys will be boys, and Liam simply _had_ to spite him.

That dumbass killed himself, what the hell was Hook feeling guilty for?

“Sorry,” he said finally, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “I got lost in my head for a minute…stupid Liam.”

“What?”

“My brother,” he scoffed. “Idiot.”

Ruby frowned. “What does he have to do with any of this?”

“Absolutely nothing, darling. Go on about Peter?”

“Peter…” she repeated slowly. “Right….uh, I don’t know…” She shrugged, picking at a nail. “It ended tragically, ‘cause…you know. He died. And it was my fault. And it was graphic and really traumatizing, and he wasn't just my fiancé, he was my best friend…”

Hook’s smile twitched. “Wait—he was your fiancé?”

“Oh, did I not mention that?” Ruby said, not looking at him. “Uh, yeah. We were pretty set to spend the rest of our lives together…which, I guess, we kinda did because his ended a lot sooner than expected, so…”

“Wow.” Hook blinked, trying to digest that information. “I, uh…I didn't know you had all—all _that_ going on. You never struck me as the kind of person with a dark past.”

“I am. Drinking and sleeping around make it easier to forget, but yeah, pretty dark.”

“I just thought you were fun.”

“I _am_ fun. I’m just secretly miserable and heartbroken, too.”

“Right…”

“But also, growing up,” she said quickly. “Just because I’m kinda starting to be honest with myself, doesn't mean I want to just toss _this—_ “ she pointed between them—“out the window. I mean, _you’re_ in therapy, _I’m_ self-discovering…We might be able to salvage something here, you know?”

“Uh—“

“Because, you know—“ she shrugged, giving him half a smile as she pulled him a little closer—“we _do_ have fun.”

“Fun,” Hook repeated with a weak laugh. “Right. Listen, about that therapy-thing…”

Now more than ever, it seemed only fair to tell her upfront what she’d be getting into, if she was going to stay with him. After all, Ruby had managed a very difficult, very traumatizing confession in front of him, and it was only common decency that he put the same amount of effort into this relationship as she did. Sure, she was tottering frighteningly closer to the brink of insanity, but Ruby’s… _spontaneity_ and _free spirit_ (as he preferred to think of it) was one of the things he loved most about her. Maybe…if he was just stupid-lucky enough…maybe his emotional disorders and traumas could endear him to her just as much, Maybe he could persuade her that it wasn't  a waste of her time to invest in this, for the long run; that a little separation period was nothing when it came to two grown-ass people trying to be emotionally honest about the fact that they were both two steps from the mental ward.

Because _love_ overcame shit like that, didn't it?

Of course it did.

“Ruby,” he said. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Ruby’s brow twitched, and she folded her arms. “Okay,” she said, a note of suspicion in her voice. “Shoot.”

Hook took a deep breath. “You have blue eyes.”

“Yeah…” Ruby shook her head slightly. “Pretty sure I already knew that, but—“

“There’s more. You have blue eyes, you have dark hair, and you’re breathtakingly beautiful.” Hook sighed. “And that, darling, is why I can’t do this right now. And by ‘this’, I mean ‘you’, but I also mean—“ he pointed between them—“you know, _this._ ”

Ruby looked at him for a moment, eyebrows raised. “Okay, so I’m not really seeing the connection here,” she said finally. “Is this your way of saying, you don’t want to see me at all anymore?”

“No, no, _want_ to see you, very much _want._ It’s the _can’t_ that’s complicating things. See—” Hook exhaled, bracing himself. “It’s my mother. You look like her. And that wouldn't be a problem, if it weren't for the fact that all of my serious girlfriends have looked like her, because she didn't love me as a child, and now I try to make up for it by falling in love with women who subconsciously remind of her, and I am _so_ sorry, Ruby, but I can’t—“ he closed his eyes regretfully—“I can’t see you anymore. At least not for a while. Archie said some separation would be good for me, and as much as it kills me to, I have to agree. I’m sorry.”

He waited for her to speak; waited for her to throw her arms around him again, perhaps sob into his shoulder and cry over their lost love. _This_ was the moment, if any, where she should be whispering into his ear, “Please don’t go.” 

Except she wasn’t.

Hook frowned and cracked an eye open. “Ruby, did you hear me?” 

She stared at him, her expression frozen with raised eyebrows and her mouth slightly open. “I…” Her voice was strained, disbelieving, unnerved. “I remind you of your mother?”

“Apparently so.”

“Wow. That’s…that is _messed up._ ” She put her hands on her hips, walking around in a slow circle, muttering shakily to herself. “I can’t believe this: I’m dating a guy who’s in love with his mother. I just woke up in a fucking Greek tragedy.”

“No, no, no, it’s not that I’m in love with my mother!” Hook said frantically. “I’m not _that_ sick! I’m really pathetic, but I swear, I’m not that sick!”

“You just told me you’re in love with me because I remind of your mother,” she reminded him. 

“It’s more complicated than that, darling—no, no, listen!” he pleaded, taking her wrist as she tried to move past him. “Look, do you want to talk to Archie? Have him explain it? Trust me, I was worried about it, too, but he told me—“

“No, I don’t want to talk to Archie,” Ruby said, shaking her head. “Actually, right now, I just want to drink. Like, a lot.”

“I understand that, but—“

“No. I don’t think you do.” Ruby braced her hands on his shoulders. “ _I need to drink a lot._ ”

“See?” Hook said, pointing at her. “This is exactly what I went through when I found out you were a werewolf. I understand, Ruby, I really do—“

“Oh, sweetie,” Ruby said pityingly. “You don’t, you really don’t.”

“I’m not in love with my mother!” Hook said, so loudly, a few people turned around with alarmed expressions. He smiled weakly at them, giving a little wave. “Everything’s fine, go back to your breakfast.”

He turned back to Ruby, who was now exasperatedly closing her eyes and holding her head in her hand. “I’m not in love with my mother,” he repeated in a low voice. “I told you, it’s this ambidextrous attachment thingy, I don’t know, some…sciency bullshit, I can’t remember—point is, I’m not in love with my mother, so it’s not like this is a deal breaker or anything, right?”

Ruby dropped her hand, looking at him helplessly. “I look like your _mother,_ ” she whispered. “Do you understand how creepy that is? You’re attracted to me…because I remind you of _your mother.”_

 _“_ No, I’m attracted to you because you’re the hottest girl in town, after Regina,” Hook said swiftly. “Ruby, this came out sounding a lot more messed up than it actually is, will you _please_ just let Archie explain—?”

“I have to go,” Ruby said, shaking her head. 

“Ruby, come on!” Hook said desperately, swinging her around by his hook. “Everyone’s got their issues! Remember, you were telling me that you had that old boyfriend who made you all crazy and shit? And remember, I was being understanding and not judging you for it?”

“Yeah, but Peter wasn't my _father!”_ Ruby said wildly. “I mean, I thought _I_ had problems, but you’ve got a fucking Oedipus complex over here! I can’t even handle _I love you,_ what makes you think I can handle an Oedipus complex?”

“ _It’s not an Oedipus complex,_ ” Hook said through clenched teeth.

Ruby exhaled heavily. “You know, maybe it’s a good thing I flipped out like I did,” she said, more to herself than him. “Gave us both a chance to reconsider things…Figure out that there’s a limit to the sexy part of insanity…”

Hook bowed his head, reminiscing those magical nights just before the full moon. 

“Maybe a break _would_ be good for us,” Ruby said, looking up. “Get some breathing space, you know? Some time to think?”

“Think?” Hook repeated worriedly. “That never bodes well for me.”

“Well, _I_ need to think,” Ruby said. “And to get drunk, really drunk. But also, think.”

“But the _fun,”_ he said earnestly. “Remember the fun?”

“I remember the fun,” she nodded. “And—not gonna lie—I think the fun is a big part of why we’re together in the first place. And probably the reason we keep _getting_ back together, every time we decide to _not_ be together.” She paused. “And it’s also what’s making this whole thing with your mom especially creepy, because you shouldn't be having _that_ much fun with someone who reminds you of your mother—“

“I thought we agreed it wasn't an Oedipus complex?”

“ _No._ We agreed, that I need time to think and drink. Emphasis on the _drink_.”

Hook hesitated. “Okay, but when you think…just remember how pretty I am, okay?” he said nervously. “Make sure that weighs into any decisions you may or may not make.”

“Right.” Ruby smiled halfheartedly. “I’ll keep that in mind. Til then…” She hesitated, then stuck her hand out. “Have a nice time in New York and, uh…make sure Neal supervises you constantly. I don’t want you getting into trouble.”

Hook looked down at her hand for a minute; then slowly, reached out and shook it. “This is weird,” he remarked. “Shaking your hand… It’s so formal.”

“Have Neal supervise you,” Ruby repeated, a little more firmly. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

“‘Kay.” Ruby let go of his hand, avoiding his gaze. “Okay, so… Good. This is good.” She hovered on her feet for a moment; then awkwardly punched his shoulder. “Guess I’ll see ya…”

Hook stared straight ahead as she wandered off, his mind struggling to compute what had just happened. Did she just—? Was that a—?

_Did she just bro-punch me?_

_Did she just BRO-PUNCH me?_

_DID I JUST GET BRO-PUNCHED?_

_BY MY GIRLFRIEND?_

_FUCKING BRO-PUNCHED?_

_BY MY FUCKING GIRLFRIEND?_

_Not your girlfriend, mate,_ a snide voice in his head chirped. _You’re on a break._

 _Shut up, you,_ he frowned. _Love is some pretty powerful shit, okay? She’ll be back._ We’ll _be back._

_She bloody bro-punched you! Ask Neal, he’ll tell you—_

_Oh, Neal doesn't know everything!_

… _I think he does._

 _You’re right, he probably does._ Hook sighed, running his hand over his hair. He could just _hear_ Neal: “Aw, shit, a bro-punch? That’s not good…”

That stupid fucking party. Everything fell to shit at that _stupid fucking_ party. Damn Regina, and her classy affairs! Well, he was _certainly_ glad he made sure to contribute some crass to the class _now!_

…with Ruby (oh, God, he was going to cry!).

_Fuck my life…Fuck. My. Life. Everything sucks. Everything sucks, sucks, sucks—_

“Dude!”

Hook whirled around, hastily wiping under his eyes. “N-Neal,” he said, trying to fake a smile. “Hey, hi, how are you?”

Neal walked toward him, spreading his arms questioningly. “What the hell have you been doing?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “I saw Ruby leave ten minutes ago. Come on, we’re burning daylight, man!”

“Sorry,” Hook said, looking down at his shoes. “I was just…”

“What?” Neal craned his neck, looking at him incredulously. “Bro…are you _crying_ again?”

Hook squeezed his eyes shut. “Nope,” he lied.

“Your mascara’s running.”

“Lies.”

“You’ve got black streaks on your face.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you do—oh, wow, are we hugging now?” Neal exhaled as Hook suddenly threw his arms around him and proceeded to sob unashamedly into his shoulder. “This is weird, man. You gotta stop.”

“My life sucks, Neal,” Hook choked. “Everything good keeps falling apart. My mental health—“

“That was always a mess.”

“—my girlfriend—“

“Worst relationship ever.”

“—my reputation—“

“As the village idiot? That’s very much intact.” Neal pried Hook’s arms off him and stepped back, looking at him warily. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Things with Ruby didn't go well,” Hook sniffed. “I told her why Archie said we should cool things off—“

“What, you mean all that mom-shit you told me about?” Neal said, wrinkling his nose. “Gross, why do you keep telling people about that?”

“I wanted to be honest with her,” Hook sighed. “And I felt bad, because she told me some stuff, so _I_ wanted to return the favor because, you know—”

“It’s only polite,” Neal shrugged.

“Just how I was brought up,” Hook agreed with a sigh. “Anyway, I told her, but she got freaked out, so that backfired majorly. And now she’s all, ‘Oh, you have an Oedipus complex’ and ‘Oh, maybe a break would be good for us’  and ‘Oh, guess what, Hook, I’m going to break your heart into a million thousand pieces for the millionth thousandth time, because I’m Ruby Lucas and I do whatever the fuck I want’.”

“Wow. She said that?”

“Not in so many words, but you know…it was implied.” Hook slumped, letting out a dejected sigh. “I’m doomed to misery, Neal. Maybe I should just give up. On…everything.”

Neal looked at him for a long time, an unreadable expression on his face as he watched Hook shed a few not-so-silent tears (it was a very emotional day, okay? _Very_ emotional!). “Tell you what,” he said finally. “I’ll let you listen to Beyonce the whole way to New York, if you promise not to cry on my shoulder ever again.”

“Britney Spears,” Hook countered, immediately sobering.

Neal widened his eyes. “ _Britney Spears?_ No. Absolutely not.”

“It’s Britney, bitch,” Hook whispered.

“Stop that.”

“I demand Britney!” he insisted. “It’s the only thing that will make me feel better!”

“I’ll give you Beyonce…and I’ll throw in Katy Perry, that’s as far as I’ll go.”

Hook folded his arms, considering deeply. “I’ll take Katy Perry…but I want some Christina Aguilera in there, too.”

“You can pick Katy or Christina, I’m not listening to both.” Neal counted off on his fingers. “It’s either Beyonce and Katy, or Beyonce and Christina.”

“Beyonce and Britney.”

“No Britney.”

“Katy and Britney.”

“Did you hear ‘no Britney’?”

“Taylor Swift.”

“No!” Neal said fiercely. “So help me God, I will murder you in cold blood if you subject me to Taylor Swift!”

“Just as well, I loathe her,” Hook agreed thoughtfully. “All right, I’ll go…Beyonce and Katy. But we have to skip ‘Hot’N’Cold’, because it reminds me too much of Ruby.”

“Fine.”

“And ‘The One That Got Away’ because…it reminds me too much of what might _happen_ wth Ruby.”

“Fine.”

“And ‘Unconditionally’, because…I kinda hate that song.”

“Okay, _fine._ Can we go now?”

“Yes,” Hook sighed. “Let the road trip commence—nay—“ he looked at Neal with gleaming eyes, holding up a finger—“the _bro-ad_ trip.”

Neal stared back, unamused. “Get in the fucking car.”

“Yes, sir.”

 


	67. Chapter 67

“Okay—“ Emma snapped off the rubber gloves, tossing them over her shoulder with a sigh. She looked around the apartment, eyes narrowed critically as she double-checked for any lingering Hook-ness. 

She’d pulled farmers’ hours, going so far as to demand a hearty pancakes-eggs-toast-and-bacon breakfast from David; Henry had glared at her murderously over the orange juice with red-rimmed eyes, spitting out threats in between all the yawning, but Emma reacted with a mere shrug and a, “Hand me the syrup?”

Four hours later, they had not only cleared out every single possession and scrap of clothing Hook owned (an inexplicable amount of black leather; it was like he’d bought the same outfit seven times), but also managed to scrub the whole place down with liberal quantities of bleach. Now, Emma stood in the center of the room, hands on hips, with Henry slumped in the corner, half-asleep. She quirked a small smile, finding the apartment to her satisfaction. 

“Beautiful,” she said. “I think we’re ready to start moving my stuff in.”

“ _No…_ ” Henry groaned, throwing his head back.   “I’m tired. I want to sleep.”

“Oh, come on, Henry,” Emma said, going over to nudge him with her boot. “It shouldn't take too long.”

“Shouldn’t take too long?” Henry repeated incredulously. “Mom, do you know how much shit you’ve got in the loft? It’s going to take all day!”

“It’ll be worth it,” she wheedled. “Just think—once we move everything down here, I’ll be _moved in._ And then, you can move all _your_ stuff in. So, your stuff and my stuff will be here, with Neal’s stuff.” She grinned, a little shyly, putting her hands in her back pockets. “We’re going to be a real family.”

It was meant to be a heartwarming sentiment; inspiring, even. And perhaps, it would have been, had Henry been younger and more innocent. But all she got out of him was a scoff and, “Yeah, I’ve already got, like, three of those.”

“Fucking teenagers,” Emma muttered, dropping her hands. “All right, get up, smart-ass. I’ve got a lot of boxes waiting in the hallway upstairs.”

“You should just make Grandpa help you,” Henry frowned, closing his eyes. “He’s got, like, muscles and shit.”

“You made a deal with me, kid,” she reminded him. “You do this, I owe you a favor. I’m not gonna owe you shit, if you don’t get up and start helping me.”

“Ugh!” Henry frustratedly threw up his hands, and stood up. “ _Fine!”_

“That’s my boy,” Emma smiled, running a hand over his hair. Henry immediately swatted her away, and shunted off, muttering extremely rude suggestions for where she could keep all her boxes.

Yep. That was her boy.

 _Oh, well,_ she sighed. Henry could be miserable, if he wanted, but that wasn't going to spoil this for her. Things were finally going the way way they were supposed to. This move—this was sixteen years in the making. S _ixteen years_ , she’d been waiting to have this with Neal. 

A home. 

_“Just close your eyes, and point,” Neal said, tossing the map on the bed. “Whatever spot you pick…that’s our home.”_

_Emma smiled, closing her eyes. She pointed her finger, twirling it around indecisively before bending to rest it on… “Tallahassee,” she read, opening her eyes._

_“We got a winner.”_

Tallahassee. _She dropped her arms around his neck, holding him closer.“So…is it near a beach?” she asked._

_“Yeah, it’s Florida,” Neal grinned.“Everything’s near a beach.”_

_“Okay, then,” she smiled. “Tallahassee, it is.”_

_“Tallahassee, it is.”_

_Her smile faded, a wave of uncertainty turning her nerves. It was a familiar feeling, at this point: even after all this time, everything that knit them together, it still baffled her that Neal was still here: still with her. Everyone left her, at one point or another; no one had ever wanted to keep her, no one had ever cared about her like this. Neal was the first person, in her entire life, who’d ever made her feel like she belonged somewhere._

_And yet, there was still that part of her that…couldn’t quite believe that._

_“Are you sure you want this?” Emma said, knitting her brow.”Is this…what you really want?”_

_Neal looked at her steadily, reading every thought in her eyes. “What I really want, is you.”_

“Mom?”

Emma looked up, quickly wiping away the tears that had gathered in her eyes. “Henry, hey,” she sniffed, trying to pretend she hadn't just been tearing up like a complete sap. She put her hands on her hips, clearing her throat. “What’s up?”

Henry raised an eyebrow over the pile of boxes in his hands. “You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just…” She shook her head, giving her hand a little wave. “I was just thinking about some stuff.”

Henry nodded slowly, setting down the boxes. “Are those…allergy tears, then?” he said, keeping his eyes down as he nudged them straight with his foot.

“They’re happy tears,” she said, hearing the concern layered carefully beneath apathy. “I was just thinking about the day your dad gave me this.”

Henry looked at the pendant, a slight frown etched on his face. “It’s just a keychain, isn't it?”

“Well…yeah.” She wandered over to the couch, her fingers lightly touching the aging metal. “It’s got a lot of sentimental value.”

“Oh.” Henry lost interest; he turned back to the hallway, sighing something about “old people” and “just a keychain, for the love of God.”

It was _not_ just a keychain. 

It had survived everything: eleven years’ worth of separation and heartbreak, Neverland, (supposed) death. Even when she thought she could never forgive him, it survived; even when he thought he’d lost her for good, it survived.

 She remembered the day she found him in New York; she remembered the bar.

_“Why, uh…why do you wear the keychain I got you?”_

_Numbly, she stared at him. Her eyes ran over the achingly familiar features: the eyes that simultaneously held a spark of mischief and a world of hurt; the crooked smile that quivered with heartbreak._

_No. He didn't get to be heartbroken. Not after what he did._

_She reached up, grasping the swan pendant that had hung from her neck for eleven years, and tugged. It broke away from her neck—too easily, it seemed; she dropped it in his hand, holding back the swell of emotion in her throat. “To remind myself never to trust someone again.”_

It had survived everything. Even that.

Emma closed her hand around the pendant a little more tightly, as if to protect it from the memories. She suddenly felt restless, nervous—like her throat was closing up. She shoved her hands in her pockets, fumbling for her phone. For some reason, she just really needed to talk to Neal right now: reassure herself that he was still there; that even though he’d left, he hadn't _left._

She bit her lip, pressing the phone to her ear; her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't breathe. Her lungs were going to burst, her chest was too tight—

“Hello?”

Relief flooded at the sound of his voice, spreading a wave of calm over her. “N-Neal?” she breathed, putting a hand over her still rapidly beating. 

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Nothing, nothing, I just…” Emma cleared her throat. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

There was silence over the line for a minute. “You okay, Em?” Neal asked uncertainly. She could hear the concern in his voice, and pictured his face all crinkled up in that worried frown of his. 

“Fine,” she said, fingers traveling back to her necklace. “I just miss you, is all.” She leaned against the couch, settling against the cushions with a small sigh as she ran her thumb along the tarnished swan. “How long are you going to be gone, again?”

“Just a few more days—“ There was the sound of a door opening in the background; someone walking in, footsteps echoing loudly while a man’s voice called out something vague. Emma grimaced, recognizing the accented drawl even through the incoherent words. 

“That’ll be Hook,” she said. 

“Found his way back to the motel, after all,” Neal sighed. “I was hoping he’d get lost, and some family would take him in.”

She could just see Hook giving Neal an exasperated look, especially as she caught the end of his grumbling: “…literally hate you sometimes—and whoever you’re talking to right now. Who is that?”

 _“_ Emma—hey, hey, _hey!_ ”

A kerfuffle, some muffled argument, and then Hook’s voice obnoxiously blaring into the phone, “What do you want, Swan?”

Emma made a face, letting out an _ugh_ of disgust. “Stop breathing into the phone, you Neanderthal! And put Neal back on, I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I don’t care,” Hook said petulantly. “You’re intruding on my time with Neal. This trip was supposed to be about the two of us, bonding  over my emotional problems and figuring out how to find me happiness.”

“Give me the phone, you escaped mental patient!” Neal yelled in the background.

“Neal—!”

“You freak, this isn't about you! Give me that!” 

Hook let out a strangled noise as once again, the sounds of a struggle crackled over the phone. Emma raised her eyebrows when Neal returned, slightly out of breath.

“Hey,” he said, a door shutting in the background. “Sorry, I had to go out in the hall.”

“It’s okay,” Emma shrugged. “Not your fault he’s crazy.”

“Guess not.” Neal sighed, sounding rather exhausted. “I swear, it’s like having another kid, dealing with him.” He stopped, his voice taking on a panic. “Oh, my God—that’s not why you were calling, is it?”

“What? No! No, no, no, I’m not—“ Emma shook her head, even though he couldn't see her. “I’m not.”

“I mean, it’s not like I wouldn't be totally psyched if you _were,”_ Neal said quickly. “But there could be better timing, you know?”

“I’m not,” Emma repeated, frowning. “And what do you mean, _totally psyched if I was?_ What does that mean?”

“I was just trying to be supportive,” Neal said. “Whatever the situation was.”

“Oh.”

“Incidentally, what _is_ the situation?” he said, the worry creeping back into his voice. “You didn't greet me with a ‘ _Hey, loser’_ or ’ _S’up, dude?’,_ and that usually means something’s up.”

“Everything’s fine. Really. I was just thinking about stuff, and…I don’t know.” Emma looked at the pendant, rolling it between her fingers. “I just missed you.”

“And…what stuff were you thinking about?” Neal asked cautiously.

“Keychain.” For some reason, it was impossible to say more than that. 

It didn't matter: he knew what she was talking about. “The day I gave it to you, or the day you gave it back?”

“Both. Mostly the day you gave it to me.” Emma waited for him to speak, but he didn't say anything. “Neal?”

“I’m here.” His voice was tight, holding tension and undefinable emotion.

“I wasn’t trying to—I didn't mean—“

“I know.”

“I was remembering _good_ stuff.”

“But that always makes the other stuff come up,” he said quietly. 

“Neal…” she sighed.”Everything’s _fine,_ okay? If I wanted to talk about other stuff, I would.”

“So—you’re okay, then?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she smiled. She twisted the chain around her finger, dangling the pendant to watch it catch the light. “Hey, you remember the day we found the dreamcatcher?”

“Flypaper for nightmares.”

“Flypaper for nightmares,” she agreed.

“Yeah, I remember.” He paused, then continued in a somewhat warmer tone, “That was the day you picked out Tallahassee.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“That was going to be our home.”

“Yeah,” Emma mused. “You know, I ended up there a few years later.”

“Oh, yeah?” Neal’s voice was carefully light. “How was it?”

“Boring and full of old people.”

He snorted, genuinely amused. “Was it at least near a beach?” he asked. “I know you wanted a beach.”

“Close enough.” Emma blew out a breath. “What about you? How was Canada?”

“Cold. Lonely.” Neal was quiet for a minute. “That wasn't the plan, you know. I wanted Tallahassee.”

“I know.”

“I wanted…you know, I wanted _you._ Us. I…” Neal exhaled, frustrated by the difficulty of expressing whatever he was trying to say. “It wasn't supposed to turn out like that.”

“Everything’s on track now,” she reminded him gently. 

“Pretty long detour, though.”

“Yeah,” Emma sighed. “I could have shaved off two years after Neverland.”

“I could have shaved off twelve, if I hadn't listened to August.”

“Well, there was the whole curse thing that needed taking care of,” she pointed out. “So, that was kind of unavoidable.” She shrugged, considering. “Still, it was a lot to get past, so maybe the two years after Neverland was unavoidable, too.”

“Mmm,” Neal murmured in agreement. “Listen, Em—“

Emma jumped as the door burst open, and Henry strolled in, music blaring from his headphones as he dropped a few boxes with a heavy _thud!_ in the corner.

“What the hell was that?” Neal asked, startled.

“ _Henry,”_ Emma said, both as a scolding and an explanation. She walked over to him, hissing his name like a curse:“Henry Mills, you scared the shit out of me! _Hey!”_

Henry looked up with raised eyebrows, pulling off one headphone (something angry-sounding blasted through). “What?”

“I said, you scared the shit out of me! Don’t just go throwing my stuff around—“

“Are you talking to Dad?” Henry interrupted, pointing at the phone.

“Yeah, but I was saying—“

“Can I talk to him?” Henry asked impatiently. 

Emma exhaled in frustration: in one ear and out the  other, it seemed. “All right, just give me a second.” She raised the phone back to her ear, swatting away Henry’s reaching hand with her free one. “Hey, Neal, Henry wants to talk to you.”

“Oh. Okay, put him on.”

“‘Kay.”

“Wait, Emma?” Neal said quickly, just as she was about to pass the phone over. She raised her eyebrows, surprised.

“Yeah?”

There was brief pause before he said with an uncharacteristic gentleness, “I love you.”

Tears sprang to her eyes, a warmth spreading through her chest and wrapping around her. _I love you._ It wasn't that she didn't know: it was just, he so rarely said it out loud. It was a silent understanding between them, an unspoken agreement; neither of them were particularly verbose, when it came to feelings, and under normal circumstances, she’d’ve taken the mickey out of him for it. But today was…different.

“I know,” she said finally. “I love you, too.”

Henry let out an exasperated breath.“Yeah, okay, we all love each other—can I talk, please?” He made a grabbing motion with his hand.

“You better put him on,” Neal said, amusement in his voice. “Talk to you later?”

“Yeah,” Emma smiled. “I’ll call you.”

“ _Mom,_ ” Henry said through his teeth. 

“Yes, I _hear_ you, Henry,” she said exasperatedly, dropping the smile as she thrust the phone at him. Henry took it immediately, pressing it to his ear only half a second before he started jabbering: “Dude, Grandpa keeps spamming my phone with texts. You gotta tell him to leave me alone, or I swear, I’m going to strangle him with that stupid cravat…”

It wasn't Tallahassee, Emma thought, looking around the apartment as Henry wandered upstairs. It wasn't really what she’d hoped for. Or remotely imagined.

It was in an apartment complex owned by the eccentric Rumplestiltskin; with Snow White the Town Yenta and Prince Charming The Cop-Slash-Caterer living upstairs. Slutty Red Riding Hood served coffee at the local diner, and she was sharing her teenage, necromancer son with the hormonal Evil Queen—who mayored the kingdom/ small town in her spare time. She was frenemies with Captain Hook; coworkers wth the Huntsman, who had an interesting, possibly sexual relationship, with the Mad Hatter or Dr. Frankenstein (she wasn't really sure); and girlfriend to the son of Rumplestiltskin, who was—by some miracle—the most normal person in this town.

No, it really wasn't what she’d hoped for. And no, it wasn't like anything she’d imagined. 

But it was better than nothing. Because in some weird, twisted way, that only Fate or Destiny could have been responsible for, it was exactly what she wanted.

It was home. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

Henry trudged through the snow, grimacing as the cold seeped further and further into his bones. He was going to be completely numb by the time he reached the well, goddamn it. _Stupid fucking Maine,_ he grumbled, stepping clumsily over a fallen log. _God, why couldn't we_ all _have found Tallahassee?_

It was a reference he still didn't _quite_ understand: from what he gathered, Emma and Neal had made plans to move to Tallahassee when they were still silly young things, and it was a big deal and sentimental, and had something to do with dreamcatchers and her keychain. Henry hadn't asked for the full story: he might have, once upon a time, when he was still green around the ears and desperate to hear _anything_ about his father. But now that he was a regular part of his daily life, Henry was content to let Neal keep a few mysteries to himself. 

Plus, Emma had already gotten dangerously teary the other day, and he certainly didn't want to go through _that_ again. 

He grimaced again, but this time, it wasn't from the cold, so much as the guilt that threatened to flood him. Clearly, this necklace—the one currently gripped in his gloved, probably-frostbitten hand—was important to Emma. It was rare that he saw her get so emotional over something, and here he was, one his way to basically destroy it in the well to resurrect a woman no one particularly cared for.

But she had _Neal_ now: surely she could live without the keychain?

It would have been selfish, Henry decided, had he not snitched it from her dresser when she went in for a shower. Allowing his mother to hold onto something that pulsed with—he tried not to feel nauseated for thinking this— _True Love_ magic, and not use it for anything? Especially when she was the product of True Love, therefore capable of _extreme amounts of power_ (used for Good, he reminded himself quickly—goddamn it, he really had to keep an eye on that psychopathy that kept creeping up!), and still refused to learn magic? No, she had to contribute. She was the Savior, and she barely did any saving at all.

Henry was doing _his_ part: being the responsible young man he was, he was taking full advantage of his product-of-True-Love-status, and developing his power to basically conquer Death. And that was really very nice of him, he thought, using _his_ magic to bring back someone else’s loved ones. 

Henry had plans, see. Once he got Cora back and figured out the mechanics of resurrection, he was going to open for business: anyone who’d suffered the pain of loss could essentially buy back their beloved’s life, for the right price (necromancy was a tricky business, it was only fair they should compensate him for upsetting the balance of Life and Death). It was basically like being a doctor, except instead of depending on science and prayer to save someone’s life, he was just going to _undo_ the whole death situation. 

But first, he had to figure out Cora.

Thank God for Rumple and his (overly) enthusiastic feelings toward Henry and necromancy, or he never would have had the courage to attempt something like this. Breaking the dam in the portal sounded simple on paper, but once the winds started whooshing and sparks started flying, magic got… _intimidating,_ was a good word for it. He still remembered using the well the first time, and how nerve-wracking that’d been. It would be nice to have an expert close by this time around.

 _Speak of the devil,_ Henry thought wryly, as he neared the well and found Rumple already there, fully garbed in his fur-lined winter coat and Russian-style hat. _Why_ he had one of those hats, Henry didn't know, but he was definitely going to mock him for it later. 

Rumple turned at the sound of Henry boots crunching closer, and beamed. “Henry, m’boy!” he called, holding his arms out. “There you are!”

“S’up, Grandpa?” Henry exhaled, brushing a fist on Rumple’s shoulder instead of the hug he’d clearly been offering. Rumple flicked his eyes in annoyance, but he was far too used to the unaffectionate natures of his son and grandson to be truly bothered by it.

“Got the keychain, boy?” he asked, rubbing his hands together. Henry nodded, and dug into his pocket to retrieve the swan pendant. Rumple grinned at it dangling from Henry’s fingers, and clapped excitedly.

“Yes! _Finally!_ Oh, now we can get some work done!”

Henry’s eyebrows jumped as he snatched the chain from him, but didn’t protest; he shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged after Rumple to the edge of the well. The wind blew an icy gust, stirring up the ends of his hair and turning his fingers to slender blocks of ice; he cursed, stamping his feet to keep warm.

“Hey, this isn't going to take long, is it?” he asked through chattering teeth. “Last time I was out here all night, it was October, and it was still normal human temperatures.”

“Quiet, boy,” Rumple frowned, his eyes closed in concentration. “I’m working.”

“I’m just asking—“

“No, seriously, shut up.”

“…’Kay.”

Rumple held out his hands, dangling them and the keychain over the dark chasm of the well. There was a quiet rumbling from deep within, vibrating through the stones and rattling the wooden planks. He felt in his bones, echoing through hollow of his throat and burrowing through the tips of his fingers; the ground shook, and something let out a deep-throated growl…

“It’s waking up,” Rumple murmured, opening his eyes a fraction. He held up the keychain, allowing the moonlight to glint off the curve of the pendant, and looked into the depths of the well. His eyes narrowed, and he gripped the chain a little more tightly. “Step back, Henry,” he said. 

Henry blinked, and obeyed him without argument: he stepped back, watching with wide eyes as Rumple lowered the chain into the well. He was only holding onto it by the edge of his fingers, the metal flickering light as the wind gently swung and rattled it. Rumple clenched his jaw, taking a deep breath.

“Once I drop this,” he said quietly. “That’s it, there’s no going back. This portal is going to open, and it’s not going to close unless the universe swallows itself whole.”

“Yeah, but…” Henry swallowed. “That’s okay, right? It’s just bringing magic into Storybrooke again, isn't it?”

“No,” Rumple frowned. “It’s bringing _my_ realm’s magic into Storybrooke. That’s an _enormous_ difference, Henry. We’re in the process of creating what could be the biggest shitstorm of disaster in the history of the universe. Inviting magic into a non-magic realm, contained only by a town that doesn't really exist? This is a big fucking deal.” He gave him a wry smile, adding almost mockingly, “And remember all magic comes with a price.”

Henry lifted an eyebrow. There had been a time when that might have worked; might have scared him off. Magic, as everyone incessantly reminded him, was not to be trifled with. It was unpredictable and wild and dangerous, and no one ever had any true control over it. 

But Henry had the word of the Dark One, himself: there had never been a necromancer so young or skilled as him. Without trying; without knowing what the hell he was doing; without being remotely aware he was using magic at all, Henry had managed to resurrect Graham. The greatest sorcerers and sorceresses had been trying for centuries to accomplish what he’d just tripped into by accident, untrained and blind. If he could manage all _that,_ without exerting any effort whatsoever, with no education or guidance to steer him properly, he was more than confident he could handle this.

“Yeah,” he said to Rumple’s dubious expression. “Magic comes with a price. But that’s just good business, isn't it?” He nodded at the keychain, tossing half a smile at him. “Go on, now.”

Something close to pride flickered across Rumple’s face. “As you wish.”

He dropped the chain.

It fell through the darkness, catching the moonlight as it turned over and over, the glint of light getting smaller as fell…fell…fell…

Another rumble, this one much louder than before. It came from deep within the earth, like something ancient had stirred awake, sleepily lifting its head and letting out a quiet growl. There was a pull in Henry’s stomach: he felt the magic ripping apart the pendant, drinking in the power that emanated from it, swallowing every broken pice and breathing it in. Energy pulsed through the stones, reaching through with sly, cunning fingers and wrapping them around his lungs. There was a burst of light from deep within the chasm, dimmed from the distance of the explosion, but there was no mistaking the _aurora borealis_ of light wavering below. 

It was magic.

The well was awake, the portal was open, and magic was slowly seeping through.

He could feel it in every inch of his body, feel it pervade the air. It was like everything was being reawakened: his vision was suddenly brighter, colors more vivid; sounds were sharper, the air crisper. Everything was alive, crawling with energy, drinking in the power that was steadily dripping through…

“You feel that, Henry?” Rumple exhaled with relish. 

Henry nodded, still not quite capable of speaking. 

“This is how magic-wielders are supposed to live,” Rumple hummed, spreading his arms. “Such bullshit, keeping us pent up in this pale excuse for a town. We should be living and breathing magic, every day—just like this.”

“Grandpa,” Henry murmured.

“ _So_ rejuvenating,” Rumple went on. “That acai berry diet Belle had me on last June—“

“Oh, my God. You are _not_ ruining this for me, this is supposed to be the most epic moment of my life.”

“Hmm.” Rumple dropped his arms, heaving a sigh. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”

Henry looked on with raised eyebrows as Rumple opened his jacket, pulling out a tightly sealed jar of white ash. “Is that Cora?” he asked dryly.

“Mmm-hmm,” Rumple said, not looking up from fiddling with the lid. “We had the old girl cremated, but I couldn't remember which vase I’d been keeping the ashes in. Lucky for me, Belle’s a compulsive organizer.” He gave Henry a sarcastic smile. “Found them in a jar labelled _Old Slut.”_

Henry snorted. “No love lost there.”

“Yeah, she gets a bit jealous, my Belle,” Rumple sighed, unscrewing the lid. “Her face gets all pinchy whenever anyone mentions Milah or Cora or Veronica—“

“Who?”

Rumple winked at him. “I did all right with the ladies.”

“Wow. Thanks. Didn't need to know that, but thanks.”

“It shouldn't hardly be a surprise to you, Henry,” Rumple scoffed, stowing the lid away in his pocket. “The Stiltskin men are known for their charm. You know many girls tried to chat me up after Milah left?”

“Veronica among them, I take it?”

“Yep.” Rumple shook his head. “But that’s a story for a different time—“

“And a different audience,” Henry added.

“And a different audience, all right. Anyway—“ Rumple abruptly shoved the jar in his hands, and jerked his head toward the well—“get on with it.”

Henry blinked, and looked down at the jar in his hands. “So, just like…what, dump them in there?”

“Whatever you did last time,” Rumple shrugged. “This is all you now.”

Last time, he’d tripped and knocked the ashes into the well. _Just dump them in there_ seemed a viable option. 

“Okay,” he exhaled, and before he could lose his nerve, not allowing himself to think about the fact that _HOLY SHIT, I’M ACTUALLY RESURRECTING CORA RIGHT NOW,_ upended the contents of the jar into the well.

He stepped back almost immediately, heart pounding furiously in his chest, hard enough to make his bones rattle. _Oh. my God, oh, my God, oh, my God._

“Now what happens?” Rumple asked, licking his lips nervously. “Should I be expecting an explosion or anything?”

“No,” Henry said, thankful for his chattering teeth to hide his shaking voice. “Last time, it was pretty straight forward. I just dropped the stuff, and a minute later—“

“Well, how long has it been?” Rumple interrupted.

“I don’t know, ten seconds? I don’t—“

“Did you time it?”

“ _Did I time it?_ ” Henry repeated incredulously. “No, I didn't time it! Why the hell would I time it?”

“I don’t know!”

“Then what are you asking me for?”

“I don’t _know!_ God, Henry!”

“ _Me?_ You’re the one acting—“

“There’s nothing wrong with how I’m acting!”

“—crazy old man—“

“You’re the one who’s crazy—“

“— _did I time it,_ like that’s something a normal person would be doing—“

“—little psychopath, probably only necromancing to hide the murders—“

“—dressed like a fucking Russian, who even leaves the house like that—“

“—can’t even ask a fucking question—“

“Boys, boys, _boys!_ ” a distinctly feminine voice admonished. “Stop bickering! There’s a damsel in distress, and she’s feeling very ignored!”

Henry choked, his heart clenching in his chest. Rumple’s eyes widened; he raced to the edge of the well, bracing his hands along the side as he leaned over. “Cora?” he quaked. 

“Oh, no, Rumple, don’t look at me, I’m a _mess!”_ the woman tutted, her voice echoing in the well. Her footsteps moved around and stopped abruptly several times. “I seem to be in a hole in the ground.”

“Yes—yes, you’re in the _well!”_ Rumple called down. “In Storybrooke!”

“Am I really?” Cora said, sounding amused. “How odd.”

“Don’t try to magic yourself out!” Rumple shouted. “You’re in a very reactive portal right now! Henry and I will call David, he’ll know what to do!”

“Henry?” she repeated, confused. “My husband, Henry?”

“No—my grandson! Emma and Neal’s boy!” Rumple paused thoughtfully. “And kind of Regina’s boy, too, but that involves legal technicalities that it’s just too cold to get into right now.”

“And David, who’s David?” Cora asked. “You’re not talking about the prince, I hope? He and I don’t really get on.”

“It’s fine,” Rumple assured her. “The only time David’s going to hurt you is if you insult his _quiche Loraine.”_

 _“_ No, Rumple, please,” Cora insisted. “I’d feel much more comfortable with Regina. Call Regina.”

“No, I don’t want her out in this weather, in her condition,” Rumple frowned. “Bad for the baby.”

There was a long pause before Cora said, in a slightly higher voice, “What?”

“What?” Rumple echoed.

“Bad for the what?”

“Nothing.”

“No, you said—“

“I really should call David!” Rumple said loudly. “Back in a mo, Cora! We’ll get you out in no time!”

He pushed away from the edge, staring with wide eyes into the depths. “Fat Christ, Henry, you actually did it,” he murmured in disbelief. “The bitch is back.”


	68. Chapter 68

David rearranged his hands on the steering wheel, letting out a tense breath. _Everything’s fine,_ he told himself. _Don’t freak out—you can handle this._

“David,” Snow muttered. “David, she’s staring at me.”

He glanced in the rearview mirror: Cora, sitting primly in the seat behind him, was staring at Snow with gleaming eyes; a smile frozen on her lips. 

“Cora, stop staring at her,” he sighed.

“ _Her?_ Oh, you mean the woman who tricked my daughter into murdering me, and forced her to watch me die in her arms?” Cora chuckled, giving her head a little shake. “You’re right—how rude of me!”

“Says the woman who _murdered my mother!”_ Snow shot back.

“Oh, you didn't know your mother like I did, I was doing you a favor!” Cora snapped. 

“Ladies, please!” David said. “I’m driving!”

Snow made a noise like an angry cat, while Cora folded her arms tightly and glared at David in the mirror. David tightened his grip on the wheel and refocused on the road, steadfastly ignoring her. 

They drove in silence (other than the sound of Snow’s teeth grinding). David tried not to think about the fact that the last time he’d dealt with this woman, she’d been trying to kill them all. Rumple had put the magic-repellant cuff on her arm, in case she decided she was tired of playing nice for the twenty minutes it had been since she’d returned, but it didn't do much for his peace of mind. 

“Where are we going?” Cora asked, her voice petulant. “No one’s explained a damn thing to me, can I at least know where we’re going?”

“We’re going to the station,” David said steadily. “Which I already told you three times.”

“I know, I was hoping you’d changed your mind,” she grumbled. “I want to see Regina.”

“Which you’ve told _us_ three times.”

“More than three,” Snow muttered.

“I want to see her!” Cora insisted. “She’s my daughter—you can’t stop me from seeing my daughter!”

“It’s the middle of the night, Cora,” David said, trying to remain patient. “Just give her a few hours, we’ll sort it all out in the morning.”

“Then at least tell me what Rumple meant when he said ‘ _her condition’_ and ‘ _bad for the baby’,_ because I’m ninety-nine-percent sure I know _exactly_ what he meant, but no one’s bothered to say anything more about it!”

“It’s Regina’s story to tell,” David said, which he knew perfectly well was a copout. 

“But—”

“Oh, it’s Adele’s new song! Here, I’m going to turn it up!”

He turned up the volume, letting Adele’s voice drown out the sound of Cora’s bitching. Snow closed her eyes on relief, mouthing a, _Thank you._

David nodded, bumping the volume a bit more as Cora started complaining about the magic music boxes. _Magic music boxes…_ Back to this, eh? It had been enough of a hassle, trying to get Hook to modernize and putting up with all his (stubborn) confusion (which cleared up suspiciously quickly, once Ruby had gotten involved), but dealing with Cora was going to be nothing short of pure hell.

Although, it was probably going to be hell, whether she was good with modernity or not: it was _Cora._ Between his small experience and Regina and Rumple’s cautionary anecdotes, he understood that she was quite possibly the most difficult, manipulative, unnerving woman in all the realms—even more so than _Regina_. And frankly, that terrified him. 

Naturally, as a cop, he couldn't let his terror show: he had to be the voice of reason, the logical one. Let the townsfolk run amok with their anxiety and paranoia—David Nolan had a situation to get under control, and he didn't have time to let his mind wander around the possibilities Cora’s return provoked. 

It was time to be a leader in this town again, to step between his people and the threat facing them. It was time to be a hero, damn it!

With his newfound determination, David jerked the wheel, pulling roughly into station’s parking lot. Snow had to brace her hands on the dashboard to keep from sliding, and Cora crashed her head into the window, but David barely spared them a second glance, already swinging out of the driver’s seat and opening Cora’s door.

“Step out of the vehicle,” he ordered. “Nice and slow…”

“I’ll go my own damn pace, thanks,” Cora snapped, still rubbing her head; still scowling as she stepped out of the car. David put his hand on her arm, guiding her up the walkway and through the station doors. 

“What are you going to do with me, anyway?” she asked as he nudged her inside. “Lock me up in a cell? I’m not dangerous, I’m wearing the cuff!”

“I’m putting you in the cell for your own good,” David assured her. “You’re not being arrested, I just…need a place to keep you until I can get Dr. Hopper down here.”

“Dr. Hopper?”

“Oh, you remember Dr. Hopper,” Snow drawled, following them with her hands in her coat pockets. “You faked his death, and kidnapped him to be physically and mentally tortured by your boytoy, so you could frame your daughter for murder and turn the whole town against her.”

Cora frowned, tilting her head. “…It’s not ringing a bell.”

“Well, maybe you’ll remember when you see him,” David suggested. “It would be a good opportunity to apologize.”

“And why am I seeing him?” Cora asked as he slid the barred cell door open. “I don’t need a doctor, I feel fine.”

“He’s a therapist,” David explained patiently. “He’s going to evaluate how mentally stable you are, before I release you into Regina’s custody.”

“What does _that_ mean? Hey!” Cora whirled around as the door slid shut, her eyes wide with fury. “David!”

“Just for a while,” he promised, locking her in. 

“How _dare_ you! I am a queen! David Nolan, I’m talking to you!” she hollered after him. David sighed tiredly, rubbing his hand over his eyes as he retreated into Emma’s office. Snow followed, closing the door behind them to muffle Cora’s furious voice. She folded her arms, watching him with a concerned frown as he dropped into the chair. 

“You going to be okay?” she asked.

David blinked at the ceiling a few times. “I don’t know,” he said after a minute. “It was one thing to have Graham come back, I didn't even know him. I _knew_ Cora. I saw her dead body.” He shook his head slightly. “And now, she’s sitting in a holding cell, shouting obscenities at me.”

“David,” Snow said gently, walking across the small space to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s a lot, but…really, it’s not that bad. You’ll get used to it. I did, with Graham.”

“I’m worried about the town,” David said. “Graham’s the nicest person in the world, everyone was thrilled to have him back. But _Cora?_ ”

“I know,” she sighed. “But we’ll get through it. We’ll get _everyone_ through it. I promise.” She kissed the top of his head, and straightened up, pulling him to a stand. “Now, let’s lock up, and we’ll come back in the morning with Archie.”

“I can’t,” David said, shaking his head. “She can’t be left unsupervised, absolutely not.”

“She’s got the cuff—”

“Don’t care.”

“—and she’s in the cell—”

“Don’t care.”

Snow sighed, dropping his hands. “Can we at least get a cup of coffee?”

“You go,” David advised. “I’m going to stay here, I don’t want to leave her alone.”

“Fine, fine…” Snow adjusted her purse strap wearily. “I’ll bring you back a cup, okay?”

David nodded, smiling faintly when she kissed him goodbye. Once she’d left, he shifted back into the chair, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He punched in a number and put the phone to his ear, letting out a slow breath as he waited.

“Hello?”

“Rumple? It’s David.”

“I know, I’ve got Caller ID.”

David closed his eyes, his exasperation already rising. “Great, that’s—that’s great. Listen, uh…I’ve got Cora in the holding cell now—”

“Locked, I hope?”

“Yeah, it’s locked. But, I gotta tell you, that’s not doing much for my nerves.” David scratched the back of his head. “Any chance you could come by, help me keep an eye on her? Since she’s got magic, and I…you know, don’t?”

Rumple groaned. “I’m exhausted, David. Henry’s already nodding off, and I’m nearly home—”

“I could also argue that this situation is entirely your fault,” he pointed out. “She’s your responsibility.”

“Henry’s.”

“Who is a minor. _Yours._ ”

Rumple exhaled reluctantly. “All right. Let me drop Henry off with Belle, and make a pot of coffee, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Thank you.”

“And David?” Rumple said before he could hang up. “If I were you, I might call Emma. You know—your cop daughter who not only has a gun, but also _magic?_ Who is more qualified than me to deal with Cora at this hour of night?”

“You’re plenty qualified,” David assured him. “But, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll call Emma.” He paused, glancing at the still-raging Cora through the window. “Might make me feel better, too.”

 

* * *

 

Emma’s eyes flickered open. Something had woken her up, and since it was—she squinted to read the fuzzy numbers on her clock— _1:17 in the morning?_ Okay, yeah—that “something” was going to die.

She looked around for the source of the buzzing, eyes scrunched up as she fumbled around for the phone. “Shut up—shut _up—_ ” her hand closed around the small metal rectangle, chirping insistently with David’s beaming face flashing on screen. That was actually a pretty goddamn adorable picture of her dad, but right now, she _hated_ it.

“ _What do you want?_ ” she growled into the phone. 

“Emma? It’s me—”

“ _I know it’s you, what do you want?_ ”

“I need a deputy right now,” David said, the _dad-joke_ effect creeping into his voice. “Up for the task?”

“Not even a little bit. Have a nice night.”

“Don’t hang up!” he said hastily, apparently reading her mind. “Look—we got a situation, and I need another cop.”

“I’m not a cop, I’m a Savior.”

“Even better.”

“I mean, I’m not a cop, I’m a civilian and in no way authorized to deal with whatever cops need to deal with at this highly unreasonable hour. Night-night, Dad.”

“Cora!” he shouted, just as she was about to hang up. Emma frowned, and cautiously brought the phone back to her ear.

“What about Cora?” she said, ignoring her exhaustion in favor of growing panic. “Don’t tell me—”

“He did it,” David said grimly. “Henry brought back Cora. She’s in the holding cell right now. Your mother and I are just outside the station, we can still hear her shrieking.”

“He brought her back?” Emma choked, the air freezing in her lungs. Cora Mills, the witch who had terrorized the entire town, who had nearly sabotaged her chance to get back to her boy, who had nearly killed her entire family…was _back?_ “H-how? How did he even—?”

“No idea. You’ll have to ask Rumple.” David paused. “He’s probably waiting for you to ask him, anyway. He seems really proud of himself.”

“Oh, my _God._ ” Emma raised herself to a seat, pushing a shaky hand through her hair as she tried to process everything. “God, I can’t…I can’t _believe_ this. This is—this is insane. This is _insane._ ”

“And also why I need you down here,” David pressed. “Get that rear in gear, Sheriff.”

He hung up, giving her no option to argue. Not that she _would_ have, she reflected, jumping out of bed and fishing around for her jacket. Cora was back, and yes, that was terrifying: but right now, she had to ignore that because she had to make sure that there was no threat to her family—even though, it really was a ridiculous hour to be making sure there was no threat to her family, and if Henry could have waited just three or four more hours—

She frowned, her fingers feeling around her neck for the familiar ring of silver to twirl her keychain…and coming up empty. For a minute, she thought—maybe it was caught in her shirt or under her bra strap. But no, it wasn't there, either. 

She felt more frantically, both hands patting around her neck, looking for her chain. “Where’s my keychain?” she muttered. “Keychain, where’s my—?”

Hadn't she put it back on? She did, every night, she wouldn't have forgotten…right? Granted, she’d been pretty exhausted from all the effort of moving Hook out of Neal’s apartment, and her in, but…she couldn't have forgotten to check for her necklace before bed? It was one of the most precious things she owned, beside her baby blanket and her Bug. 

She hovered on her feet, clutching the sides of her head nervously. _What do I do?_ She knew David needed her down at the station, but—well, she had time to look for her keychain, didn't she? He would understand, it was her _keychain,_ for Christ’s sake! The same keychain she’d reminisced over just yesterday—the one she’d practically sobbed over—and it was _gone?_ She shook her head in disbelief, checking her neck again as if it had magically reappeared in the last five seconds. It couldn't be gone, it _couldn’t…_

She hurried over to the bathroom, bumping the light switch with her elbow and scanning her eyes frantically around the counter for the little gleam of silver. Did it fall on the floor? She dropped to her knees, her hands freezing on the cold tile floor. Not there, either. 

“ _Shit.”_ She pushed herself up, and dashed back to her room, looking wildly around. To the dresser—she opened drawers, tossing out the already unfolded clothes out—not there. The little night stand—her hands flew over it, feeling frantically—not there. Under the bed—she kicked stray shoes out of the way, pushed old shoe boxes—not there.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Emma closed her eyes, knowing it was David without even looking at the screen.

“I know, I know,” she exhaled, picking up without even a _hello._ “I’m on my way, be there in ten.”

“Where _are_ you?” 

“At the loft, I was just—”

“You didn't even leave yet? Emma, look, I know it’s early, but—”

“My keychain!” she said over him. “I lost my keychain, I was looking for it. I can’t find it _anywhere,_ I don’t even know when I lost it— _how_ I lost it—but it’s gone.” Emma braced her hand on her hip, frowning as the weight of realization dragged on her shoulders. “My keychain’s gone.”

Sixteen years, she’d had it. Sixteen years, it was her constant reminder of Neal and everything he meant to her, everything between them…and just like that, it was gone. She couldn't focus without it ‘round her neck, she just felt weightless.

“Well…” David seemed to be holding back his impatience. “Maybe we can look for it when we get back.”

“Yeah.” She let out a slow breath, resigning herself to leaving without it. “I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Where’s Henry, by the way?” she asked, picking up her keys. “I want to talk to him.”

“Rumple dropped him off with Belle, he fell asleep in the car.”

“And what about Rumple?”

“He’s on his way—just wants to make some coffee, he said.”

Emma wrinkled her nose at the thought of Rumple’s watery, grainy coffee, and gagged. “ _Ugh._ ”

“I know,” David agreed grimly. “Your mother’s getting some coffee—you want me to tell her to bring you back one?”

“Two,” Emma corrected. “I need the caffeine boost to stay awake and keep a handle on my bitchiness, because I am very tired and _very_ cross right now.”

“You got it.”

The drive to the station was just _numb._ She was numb with cold, the freezing winter air turning her steering wheel and fingers to ice, her bones absorbing the cold and making her hands tremble. More than that, her brain was numb—buzzing incessantly with the words _It’s gone, it’s gone._ It was the kind of numbness that accompanied loss, the one that spoke of disbelieving regret. 

If it had been anyone else, she’d’ve said they were being ridiculous. It was a fifty-cent keychain, for Christ’s sake—hardly the end of the world. And it wasn't as though it was her only reminder of Neal, or even that she needed one, at all. But even if she did, she still had the Bug. She still had the _kid._

She didn't want to dissect all the reasons why it upset her as much as it did: the drive wasn't that long, and she knew there were probably a lot of bitter reasons, beside the sentimental ones, that she felt so lost without it. She didn't want to dwell on it.

And…there was still hope. It had to be in the loft _somewhere,_ didn't it?

She knew it wasn’t, knew in the pit of her stomach that it was well and truly gone, but she forced herself to stop thinking about it and maintain that it had simply slipped behind the dresser. She pulled roughly into the parking lot, snatching the keys and swinging herself out of the car in one swift motion, all the while muttering to herself, “You’ll find it, it’s in there” in a mantra. 

She kept muttering all the way up the stairs, and down the hall; but when she shouldered her way through the door and saw the small, fire-eyed brunette in the holding cell, she stopped.

All she could do was _stare._

The door swung shut behind her, but Emma barely heard it. The back of her head tingled, shock turning to ice in her veins. “Holy shit,” she breathed.

Cora looked annoyed, gripping the bars in her tiny hands. “Why are _you_ here?” she asked. “Where’s Rumple? Where’s Henry?”

Emma’s eyes flashed at the mention of her son, the memory of Cora’s efforts to keep her from him rising up and setting her temper aflame. “Leave Henry out of this,” she growled. “I don’t want you _near_ him, you crazy bitch.”

“Oh, honestly,” Cora said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not going to hurt him. All I want is to see my daughter, I’m not here to raise hell.”

“Yeah, well, make sure it stays like that,” Emma said acidly. “I don’t care if he brought you back from the dead—I’ll send you right back myself, if you try anything.”

Cora gave her a poisonous smile. “Lovely girl, you are. Absolutely lovely.” The smile dropped, and she leaned back from the bars, calling toward the office, “David Nolan, tell your insipid little brat to stop harassing me!”

Emma heard David sigh heavily. The chair scraped against the floor, and soon after, he emerged from the office, looking a mixture of exhausted and exasperated. “Let’s keep things civil, ladies,” he said. “Emma—Rumple’s on his way, he’s going to help us keep an eye on her until I can get Archie down here for an evaluation.”

“What about Regina?” Emma asked, not taking her icy gaze off Cora. “Did you tell her Mommy Dearest is back?”

“Not yet.”

“ _Not yet,_ ” Cora muttered under her breath, scowling. _“Not. Yet._ ”

“Just be patient,” David assured her. “I told you, it’s a lot to sort out, so you’re going to have to cooperate with us.”

Cora let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t think I’ve got much of a choice!” she said, waving her cuffed arm and rattling the bars. 

David smiled humorlessly, and put his hand on the small of Emma’s back to guide her to a seat at what used to be Neal’s desk. “Rumple and Snow should be here soon, with caffeine,” he said, dragging over another chair with his foot. 

“Great,” Emma grimaced. 

David tapped his fingers on the table. “Sorry for waking you up, by the way,” he said. “I know you like your sleep.”

“It’s fine,” she exhaled. “I’m just…really not psyched about having Cora back in our lives.”

“You know, I can still hear you,” Cora sang out. 

“And,” Emma went on with a sigh, as if she hadn't spoken, “now I”m worried about Henry, because apparently, he can do shit like this now—”

“You already knew he could,” David pointed out. 

“I knew he could accidentally bump things into a well, and be witness to a freak accident,” Emma said steadily. “And now…” She almost reached up to twirl her necklace, as she did when she was anxious, but stopped herself. “Now, he’s…”

David smiled sympathetically as she trailed off, unable to explain how much Henry using potentially dark magic unsettled her. “Does it help to know that, I kind of felt the same way when I found out you had magic?”

“But I’ve never _used_ mine,” Emma argued. “I’ve never given you a reason to worry. And Henry’s got Rumple crowing in her ear, egging him on—and then, Regina’s not exactly discouraging him, either.”

David nodded. “What about Neal?” he asked. “I can’t see him being thrilled about this.”

“He doesn't talk about it,” Emma shrugged. “But it makes him uncomfortable. He won’t say anything to Henry, though.”

David contemplated for a moment, looking as if he were about to say something, but kept thinking better of it. Emma nearly asked him what was on his mind, but before she could, the door opened, followed by the sound of Snow and Rumple bickering. 

“…spend God knows how much on your suits, if you just buy a decent coffee maker—”

“—I like my coffee, okay? I’m not making you drink it—”

“—you’re so stubborn—”

“—everyone’s always on my back about this, I don’t understand—”

“What the hell is that?” David frowned, pointing at what was one of the most ridiculous hats Emma had ever seen Rumple wear: a full-on, furry Russian hat, his hair neatly coifed underneath.

Apparently, it was the height of fashion, because Rumple simply scoffed and rolled his eyes. David exchanged a look with Emma, who shrugged bemusedly. There was no fathoming Rumple, or his fashion choices. 

“Rumple!” Cora stretched longingly through the bars. “Rumple, help me, they’re being horrible!”

Rumple moved his eyes from Cora to Emma and David, raising a quizzical eyebrow. David shook his head, and mouthed, _I didn't do anything._ Rumple nodded, and went on ignoring Cora’s reaching hands, unraveling his scarf as he made his way to a chair.

“Henry’s asleep on my couch, by the way,” he said, sitting down. He took a sip of his coffee, visibly shuddered, and took his hat off. “You know, Emma, you really shouldn't let him drink those energy drinks. They keep him up for an hour, and then he crashes, and chugs another until he collapses at night—it’s just not a healthy for a growing boy.”

“I keep telling him that,” Snow said, moving around him to hand David and Emma their cups. “Sister Astrid told me he falls asleep in class all the time.”

“I’ll put it on my to-do list,” Emma said, waving a dismissive hand. “I think you know what I want to talk to you about right now.”

Rumple glanced over her over his cup. “Pray tell.”

“Don’t give me that, _pray tell,_ ” she said witheringly. “You _know_ I’m talking about Cora.”

“What is it that you’d like to know?” he frowned. “I think the situation is fairly self-explanatory. She was dead, your freakishly talented son did magic, and now she’s back.”

Emma looked helplessly at David, who leaned over the table and peered sternly at Rumple. “Why don’t you start off with explaining how that works?” he said. “Because I don’t know a lot about magic, but from what I _do_ know, it’s not supposed to be this easy.”

“It’s not,” Rumple shrugged. “But Henry and I have something in common: we’re both very gifted, and very clever. So, if anyone was going to figure it out, it would be us.”

“No one’s arguing that,” Emma said impatiently.

“I know, I just wanted to brag.” Rumple took another sip of coffee, and let out a long exhale. “Basically, what happened was, Henry figured out that the well was connected to Lake Nostos, which is where  it derives its regenerative powers from. _I_ figured out that the reason why he couldn't harness said power to resurrect Cora before now was because the portal between worlds in the well—essentially, the link between the magic and non-magic world, to feed Storybrooke its ability to support magic—was too weak. So I needed even more powerful magic to blast through, and hold that portal open, so Henry could take full advantage of the lake’s powers.”

Emma glanced over his head: Cora was leaning through the bars, listening intently with a small frown on her face. She was familiar with Lake Nostos, Emma knew: probably cursing herself for having not figured out resurrection before Henry.

“What I don’t understand, though, is why you keep saying Henry is so gifted,” Snow said carefully. “It sounds more like, he simply figured out that the well is powerful.”

“But not just any sorcerer can bend that kind of magic to his will,” Rumple insisted. “The lake is a source of most ancient magic, there’s a million things it can do we can’t ever begin to imagine. Henry managed to pull its resurrection powers through, because _he_ is also powerful. Very, I might add,” he said, giving Emma a significant look.

David raised an eyebrow, also looking at Emma. She frowned defensively, and flipped out her hand as if to say, _What?_

“True Love,” Rumple drawled, swilling the contents of his cup. “The most powerful magic of all. You are the product of it, Emma. And so is Henry.” He gave a little shrug. “A nice little piece of information I used to fix the portal.”

“What does that mean?” Snow said, crinkling her brow.

Rumple didn't take his eyes off Emma. “It means, that I was able to use the magic inside the True Love talisman Henry stole for me. And I think, if you’ll look ‘round yourself, you’ll be able to guess what it was.”

Emma tilted her head, opening her mouth to tell him she hadn't the foggiest _what_ he was talking about, when it dawned on her. Her fingers traveled back up her neck, feeling the empty space…Rumple’s gaze followed her movements, and he nodded slightly. Emma stared at him, dropping her hand.

“ _Henry_ stole my keychain?” she said in disbelief. 

“Took him ages, but there you are,” Rumple shrugged. 

“The keychain?” David said bewilderedly.

“The keychain Neal gave her,” Rumple clarified, sparing him a glance. “Like Snow’s ring.”

Snow touched the peridot on her fourth finger, as if she was hardly aware she was doing it. Rumple eyed it appraisingly, then added, “I told him to go for the keychain, because the ring was too valuable.”

“Not to _me!”_ Emma said, suddenly finding her voice with a vengeance. “You told him to steal my keychain for _this?”_

 _“_ Well, I didn't have another potion hiding in a dragon, did I?” Rumple said in annoyance. “I had to get the magic from somewhere, and honestly, dearie, I thought it more than appropriate that Henry come into his magic with his parents’ talisman. Especially when said talisman is worth fifty cents, tops.”

“But it’s—!” Emma slammed her hands on the table, shock and fury competing for the dominating emotion. “It’s my keychain! I-I’ve had that thing for sixteen years, it’s—”

“Very sentimental and symbolic, I’m sure,” Rumple said in a bored voice. “Which is why it worked so well, and we now have this—” he gestured at Cora behind him—“ _lovely_ woman back in our lives.”

Cora smiled nastily at Emma through the bars. “And aren't we going to have fun.”

 


	69. Chapter 69

 

 

Regina loved horses.

They were noble creatures: the seamless combination of hard grit and beauty. Powerful enough for hard labor, graceful enough for elegance. Capable of great loyalty, and greater fierceness. Controlled, but never completely tamed: the “wild” never quite disappeared. She loved the way they could gallop for miles without breaking a sweat, their endurance through all manners of weather and storm; she loved their discipline, their strength; she loved their majesty and dignity. 

But her favorite thing about horses…?

No goddamn horse had ever casually called her down to the station, and surprised her with her newly-resurrected mother, waving from the holding cell. 

Even now—two hours later in Granny’s diner— she was silently seething. She hadn't quite progressed to speech yet, in her shock recovery, but through crude sign language and Rumple’s persuasion, she found herself seated between Rumple and Cora, both of them tucking into the overcooked eggs and burnt toast while Regina stared sightlessly ahead.

Emma hadn't given her any warning when she’d called her down to the station, so there was no way to prepare herself for the barrage of emotions that had assaulted her when she saw Cora. First, there was the obvious shock, freezing her heart and stealing her breath, turning her very soul to ice; then there was the overwhelming heartbreak, as the memory of her death rushed up and engulfed her; the brief flame of joy, quickly doused by the rage that had never quite died, knowing that this woman was responsible for so much of her misery. 

This woman, who was now contentedly eating bad diner food beside her and asking for the salt.

“Regina, dear, it’s right by your plate. Could you just—?” Cora made a grabbing motion with her fingers. Regina stared at her for a full minute; then slowly picked up the saltshaker and passed it over. Cora smiled with a chirpy, “Thank you”, and peacefully went back to her breakfast.

Regina blinked at her, and went back to staring out the window, trying to fathom the ludicrousness of her mother. The woman had been _dead_ less than twenty-four hours ago, and she was acting like it was just another Tuesday morning. Where were the gushing tears, the overwhelmed gasps? The shaking voice, the trembling hands? The speeches, where were the speeches? In all the ways Regina had imagined their reunion, she’d pictured teary-eyed speeches in every one. But that hadn't happened. All she’d gotten was an excited, “Regina, sweetheart! I’m back, isn’t it—? Oh, my, I _love_ your blouse!”

No one had seemed to notice Regina staggering back and clutching at her heart; nor had they heard her choking and gasping and babbling incoherently. Emma and David were engaged in a whispered argument, while Rumple chatted to Cora in a low voice, moving his hands around as through he were explaining something. Meanwhile, Regina focused her efforts on _not_ having a heart attack and dying smack dab in the middle of the police station. 

Naturally, who should walk in next but Graham—who _had_ had a heart attack and died smack dab in the middle of the police… _which_ had been Regina’s fault, thus making it her cue to leave. Rumple seemed to understand this, because he’d stolen quick glance at her white face, and said loudly, “You know what, David? I think Regina and Cora are going to need to some time to catch up—be a lamb, and unlock the cell for me?”

David paused his argument with Emma long enough to have an argument with Rumple, but his heart wasn't in it: Rumple easily won him over, and before she knew it, Regina was trapped between Rumple and Cora in the hall of Health Code violations, surrounded by bad eggs and small-town gossip.

Essentially, Hell.

“Regina, dear, you’ve been awfully quiet,” Cora ventured, carefully spreading butter on her toast. “I wish you’d say something, I’ve missed you so.”

Regina turned incredulous eyes on her. Cora stared back, chewing her toast daintily.

“ _Well_?” she prodded. “Come on, say something—anything!”

“ _Rumplestiltskin_ is my _FATHER?_ ”

Cora froze for a minute; then broke into a nervous smile. “So you heard about the Rumple-thing—”

“ _Yes, I heard about the Rumple-thing!”_ Regina snarled. 

“Speaking of fathers, who is he?” Cora asked, gesturing at Regina’s stomach. “Can I meet my son-in-law?”

“It’s Robin Hood,” Rumple said before Regina could answer. “He’s really nothing special. Used to be an outlaw, now he’s…still an outlaw, far as I know.”

“Oh.” Cora furrowed her brow. “Is he cute? I’d hate to have ugly grandchildren.”

“Come on,” Rumple scoffed; he chucked Regina’s chin, and shook it slightly. “How could they be anything less than flawless, with a mother like this?”

“Get off!” Regina pushed his hand away, and furiously turned back to her mother. “I can’t believe you! Did you never think to tell me that my father was _the Dark One?_ Did Da—did _Henry_ know?”

“I’m sure he suspected,” Cora shrugged, sipping her tea. “We never really talked about it, though.” She flapped her hands, shaking her head. “I don’t want to talk about that now, let’s get to the good stuff. Catch me up on Storybrooke.”

Regina looked at Rumple helplessly, who gave her a small nod of assurance and scooted his chair closer to begin a brief summary of the last few years. Regina sat numbly through his discussion of Henry being kidnapped to Neverland and how the whole rescue mission amounted to a family-bonding retreat, when they weren't being terrorized by the immortal teenagers (who now had a very successful following for their punk rock band). Cora listened, her eyebrows disappearing further and further into her hair as Rumple went on.

“And… _Hook_ was part of this?” she said disbelievingly. “Hook, as in _my_ Hook?”

Regina gagged at the phrase “ _my Hook”,_ remembering all the (probably-true)  rumors of Hook and Cora’s relationship. 

“We were all a little thrown,” Rumple agreed with a frown. “And then there was that whole Emma-business that came out of nowhere, the made a right mess of things…”

“What Emma-business?”

“Meh, nothing really,” Rumple shrugged, waving a dismissive hand. “For a time, he insisted he was in love with her, but most of us think, he just wanted to be part of the gang.”

“There’s a gang?” Cora said, raising her eyebrows. 

Rumple nodded, and started to count off on his fingers. “David, Snow, Henry, Emma, Neal, me, Belle, Regina, and Hook managed to shoehorn himself into the picture. Sometimes Ruby and Robin are there, but they don’t have T-shirts.”

“Your gang has _T-shirts?”_

“No, that was a quip,” Rumple said, somewhat impatiently. “What I mean is, Robin and Ruby are only part of the gang because of who they’re sleeping with.”

“So…” Cora squinted her eyes, tracing invisible lines with her finger in the air as she tried to map it out. “Robin though Regina, and Ruby through…I’m sorry, who’s Ruby again?”

“Slutty werewolf,” Rumple said briskly, reaching across Regina to grab the salt. “Sweet girl; questionable taste in men. I don’t know what she sees in that pirate, but they’ve been on and off for the past few months. Eh, Regina?” he added, elbowing her to include her in the conversation.

“What is wrong with you people?” she said, mystified as she looked between her parents. “Are we really not going to discuss this? _Any_ of this?”

“Any of what, darling?” Cora asked, concernedly. 

“ _This!”_ Regina cried. “Our family! My son resurrecting you, under _this_ one’s training, and everyone being weirdly nonchalant about it! The fact that you kept my real father from me—let him teach me Dark magic, and change the entire course of my life—and I only found out about it because my half-brother—who is _also_ the father of my adopted son—was able to break my blood seal on my vault to get refreshments for Rumple’s vow renewal to Belle! Who is also my half-step-mother!” she added, practically in tears now.

For a moment, Cora simply stared at her, her fork-holding hand still frozen in midair; then she _tsk_ ed and shook her head, letting out a fluttery little laugh. “Oh, you’re so dramatic!”

“Mother!”

“ _Regina._ ” Cora placed her hand on Regina’s, looking at her intently. “I want you to listen to me, sweetheart: it wasn't until I died with my heart in my chest that you caught a glimpse of the mother you should have had. You were raised by a shell of a person, who survived on her own cunning and craft—brilliance, if you will.” 

(Regina rolled her eyes).

“That being said…I did not make the right decisions, decisions I might have made had I been able to feel anything. I might have known regret…remorse…the sense of betrayal you must be feeling right now. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She gave Regina a small hopeful smile, which she held for a minute—and then went back to her eggs. 

Regina blinked a few times, trying to fathom the utter ridiculousness of Cora Mills, but the woman defied credulity. She wished Neal was there, to provide a sarcastic remark; or even Emma, to exchange a derisive look with. Rumple, for his part, seemed to think Cora’s apology was more than sufficient, and was now contentedly remarking on the food poisoning they would both likely suffer. 

“…really gone downhill in the last few years,” he was saying. “Tony’s gone senile, I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t know Tony.” Cora paused, and continued with a stiffness in her voice, “I don’t know _Belle,_ either, but I’d love to hear more about her. Tell me about the little homewrecker.”

Rumple choked on his drink, coughing violently. Cora waited, unperturbed, as he pounded his chest, struggling to recover his breath. 

“ _H-homewrecker?_ ” he gasped finally. “She’s not a homewrecker, she’s my wife!”

“And the mother of …which of your two children?” Cora frowned.”Are you sure she’s not just the whim of a midlife crisis?”

Rumple opened his mouth indignantly, but he was interrupted by a sultry drawl: “ _Darlings!”_

“Christ,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as Cruella sauntered into view, Ursula following closely behind. Cora looked around, eyeing Cruella’s furs appreciatively. 

“Are those real?”

“So real, they’re still barking,” Cruella smirked, cuddling into her snow-fox furs. “Skinned them myself.”

“They’re beautiful,” Cora admired. She regarded Cruella for another minute, then extended her hand. “Cora Mills.”

“Oh, yes, I know,” Cruella said, her eyes gleaming. “You’re Regina’s mother, back from the dead. And incidentally, the reason why I’m here right now. See—” she paused as Ursula scared a couple out of their chairs, so they could sit down—“if you’re here, that means that young Henry has finally succeeded in hammering down resurrection. Which means, he can help us with what we came for, in the first place.  I’m Cruella De Vil, by the way, and this gorgeous woman right here is my wife, Ursula.”

“Charmed,” Cora smiled.

“Likewise,” Ursula nodded back.

Rumple glanced at Regina, the hint of a smirk on his face . _We’re so fucking classy,_ he mouthed. 

Regina stared at him dryly, fingers pressed to her temple to ward off the migraine she could feel coming on. Rumple sat back in his seat with a little shrug, and went back to his coffee. 

“Now, then, Regina, darling—” Cruella cleared her throat, placing a red-taloned hand on her wrist—“where is the boy?”

Regina shook her head tiredly. “At the rate he’s going, probably trying to resurrect the Lost City of Atlantis, so he can have his own kingdom.”

“That’s not a bad idea….” Cora mused. 

“ _Mother_.”

“Well, call him,” Cruella said, waving a dismissive hand. “We need to speak with him.”

“Henry’s had a long night, you can speak to him later,” Regina said, narrowing her eyes. “And with one of his parents present. Neal’s out of town, so that leaves either me, or Emma.”

Cruella curled her lip. “ _Tch._ Emma.”

“Don’t care for Miss Swan, I take it?” Rumple asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Lily’s heart is little cracked, at the moment,” Ursula said, side-eyeing her wife. “She really thought seeing Emma again was going to have a bigger impact, dredge up old feelings…The bitch has been avoiding her since we got here.”

“What old feelings?” Regina frowned. “That makes it sound like—”

“Don’t ask, I don’t know the story,” Ursula said, waving her hand. “And honestly, at this point, its significance is dropping. Maleficent is the real reason we came here, and the only way Emma figures into it at all, is that we need her boy to work his magic.”

“You know,” Rumple said before Regina could reply, leaning across the table, “that’s quite a favor you’re asking, dearie. I hope you’re not thinking to get it for free.”

Cruella frowned. “Actually, I think we’ve already paid more than enough. I’ve kept quiet as a mouse, haven’t made a spot of trouble—and Ursula spared the pirate’s life.” 

“I demand compensation for that,” Regina said instantly.

“I think Henry would agree,” Rumple nodded. “Sparing Hook’s life is a debt _he_ owes to you. The rest of us are majorly inconvenienced by your mercy. And besides—” he shifted in his seat, folding his hands together—“Henry may be young, but he’s a very shrewd, sharp-minded little bastard. He’s going to want to discuss this with you, go over terms and the like, before he commits to anything.”

“And I’ll suppose you’ll be right there, hissing instructions in his ear?” Ursula returned coolly.

“I don’t need to hiss instructions, he already thinks like me,” Rumple smirked. “I’ll provide advice on the suit he wears, but this will all be Henry. I can have him meet with you later today, if you like.”

“He’s got _school,_ ” Regina said scandalously “Rumple—”

“High school is hardly important—”

“— _Dad._ ”

Rumple looked ‘round in surprise, his eyes wide. Regina drew in a steady breath, and continued.

“Look, I know you’re trying to turn Henry into ‘Mr. Gold 2.0’, but this is ridiculous. Okay? He’s still a child, he’s not responsible enough for this—he can’t be a business shark at fifteen, especially not when his business is _life and death._ This is dangerous.”

“Oh, Regina, honestly!” Cora tutted. “You’re overprotective of him! He is a _necromancer,_ my dear—do you really think anyone’s going to be brave enough to cross someone with that kind of power?”

“He’s a _child—_ ”

“No, he’s not,” Rumple said in a voice like cold steel. “This family has an inheritance of growing up before their years. He’s the same age Emma was, when she started running away from foster homes. He ’s the same age Bae was, when he went traversing through the bloody universe of realms. He’s the same age Snow was when she started running from _you._ ” He sat back, regarding her with icy eyes. “He’s finally coming into his own, and you will not take this from him. Let him run his own life.”

Regina blinked. If it had been someone else’s child, she might have even agreed, but…but this was _Henry._ And he had a history of getting into trouble—fatal trouble! The poisoned apple tart, nearly blowing up the well, Neverland…And now, meddling in life and death. She couldn't just stop worrying, not with a track record like that.

“And Regina,” Cora said softly, “you remember what it is to have your mother run your life.”

“This is hardly the same thing!” Regina argued. “You were _controlling_ me, I’m protecting him—”

“Forgive me, my dear, but that’s bullshit,” Cora cut in serenely. “I said the same thing, and you loathed me. Take my advice: keep a _distant_ eye on him, and leave it at that.”

Rumple gave a firm nod of approval, and tipped two fingers to his temple in silent salute to Cora. Regina looked between the two of them, bewilderedly trying to think of an argument; but it was hard to argue with their logic, mad as they both sounded—and her relationship with Henry was delicate as was…She didn't want to alienate him further, and interfering with something this important to him would do just that.

She released a heavy sigh, covering her hand over her eyes. “All right, fine,” she said. “You can talk to him, just—just make it in a public place, okay? So I don’t worry?”

“You have nothing to worry about, darling, we would never hurt the boy,” Cruella said smoothly. “But if it will soothe your nerves, certainly.”

“And _after_ school,” Regina added. “I don’t want him skipping class for this.”

“After school,” Ursula shrugged in agreement. “But _today_ after school.”

“I’ll go with him,” Rumple volunteered, putting a hand up. “Keep an eye on the boy, see how he handles himself—”

“You can watch, but you have to keep your mouth shut,” Cruella said, narrowing her eyes at him. “We’re dealing with Henry—not you.”

Rumple batted his hand dismissively, giving a muttered agreement. 

“And I’ll tell you something else,” Cruella said, turning to Regina. “If Henry doesn't cooperate—if he suddenly decides he’s not going to resurrect Maleficent—I’ll go off my best behavior. Storybrooke will have to deal with a villain again, and this time…it won’t end so well for you.”

Regina frowned, flipping out her hand questioningly. “What are you going to do—criticize everyone’s  wardrobe?”

“I can be a major pain in the ass,” Cruella warned her. “I will make late-night phone calls—I will write letters to the government—I will throw a customer-service-fit in every business establishment I set foot in. I will have late parties with loud music—I will hold up traffic with snail-speed driving—and you can bet your perfectly-shaped ass, I will demand to see the manager in _every_ restaurant this little podunk town has.” 

She folded her arms and leaned back in her seat, a satisfied smile, curling on her face. Regina exchanged a look with Rumple, who regarded Cruella with a confused little frown, as though he didn't quite know what to make of her.

“I wouldn't cross her, Regina,” Cora said quietly. “She sounds serious.”

“Yes…” Rumple mused. “We’ve dealt with psychotic villains on murderous rampages, but a steady stream of irritating, ongoing pettiness is…well, it almost sounds worse.”

Regina lifted an eyebrow. “It does, doesn't it?” she reflected; then cleared her throat, leaning forward with folded hands. “All right, ladies—I can promise, I won’t stand in the way of Henry’s decision; but since, as you said yourself, you’re dealing with _Henry._ He’s the one you have to convince.”

“Which shouldn't be hard at all,” Rumple added, with a quick side-glance at Regina. “He’s rather eager to hone these skills, I’m sure he’d love another opportunity to exercise those skills.”

“Lovely,” Cruella smiled, gathering up her furs as she stood up. “I look forward to it. Children are the future, after all.”

 


	70. Chapter 70

Horns blared amidst the sound of brawling voices, the noises of cramped traffic muffled only by the rushing wind. Neal kept his hands in his pockets, walking at the brisk pace set by the other New Yorkers cluttering the sidewalk; shouldering his way through the crowd.

It was hard to keep the smile off his face. He’d _missed_ this city—God, he’d missed this city! Storybrooke was so small and dull, in spite of the individuals: it was a lifeless town without color, a sweeping landscape of mediocrity. New York was _alive:_ electric, full of energy and _go-go-go!_ Never a silent moment, no time to linger—always in a rush and doing something, a constant state of motion. A city full of strangers….So refreshing.

“Oh, my God, I’m literally going to _kill everything,_ ” Hook said loudly, as yet another person pushed roughly past him. “Why is everyone in such a hurry to go nowhere?”

“That, my friend, is the essence of the Big Apple,” Neal said over his shoulder, easily dodging the crowd that Hook was complaining about. “Embrace it!”

“I don’t have time to embrace it, I’ve got more important things on my mind.” Hook pushed his way to Neal’s side, glowering straight ahead. “I’m having a hard time working out whether or not Ruby broke up with me.”

Honestly, Neal thought it was more than clear that Ruby’s suggestion to “get breathing space” was the precursor to an official break-up; but he didn't want to come right out and say it, not while he was the only one with an available shoulder to cry on.

“You gave her a lot to deal with,” he offered finally. “Threw some heavy sentiments out there, and then all that stuff about your mom…”

“I just wanted to be honest with her!” Hook argued, struggling to keep up with him. “I thought she’d like that!”

Neal shrugged. “Archie told you to get some time away, regardless. Maybe it’s for the—”

“ _Don’t_ say it’s for the best!” Hook said severely. “How could it possibly be for the best? I’m ninety-six-percent confident I love this woman!”

“Four percent margin of error, that’s romantic.”

“Mmm,” Hook agreed vaguely; then, with a little sigh, “Neal, I don’t know if my heart can survive another break-up. It’s cutting into a still-fresh wound, and honestly, I’m starting to take it personally. I mean—is it _me?_ Is there something wrong with—?”

“Of course,” Neal said, giving him a strange look. “This is entirely your fault.”

Hook frowned at him. “That better be sarcasm, mate.”

“It’s not,” Neal said, without a trace of irony. “I truly and honestly believe with all my heart that this is your fault.”

“Have you _never_ heard of ‘bros before ho’s’?” Hook sputtered.

“I have,” Neal shrugged. “I choose to ignore it.”

“What— _why?_ I always have your back!”

The crosswalk flashed: DON’T WALK, giving him ample opportunity to give Hook the most incredulous glare of righteous judgment he had ever given another person.

Hook blinked. “What?”

“You _always have my back_?” Neal repeated witheringly. “Really?”

“‘Course, I have,” Hook scoffed. “When haven't I?”

Neal’s eyes widened. “Well, shit, let me think! How about— when we were stranded in Neverland, trying to save my son from insane teenagers, and you made the whole thing about you by going after Emma and trying to sell me as the jealous ex? Or how about when I was fourteen years old, being kidnapped by those _same_ insane teenagers, to my evil great-grandfather’s lair of doom, and you just stood there and _let_ them? How about when I was a little kid, barely up to your knee, and you let my mother abandon me before I was even old enough to remember her face?”

“But we weren't _friends,_ then,” Hook said earnestly, keeping in step with Neal as the light changed. “I’d never do that to you now. I’d die for you, Neal, you know that.”

Neal clenched his teeth, suppressing the urge to smash his head into a brick wall. He probably _would_ have, if it had been anyone else: but for Hook, this was positively moral. The man had spent two hundred years as a murderous, villainous, blackhearted, pirate-scum bastard: they were lucky Hook still _had_ a conscience at all, even if it was a lopsided one. 

“Neal?”

“What?”

“Are you angry with me?”

“…You’re a very frustrating person to deal with.”

“I know.” Hook sighed heavily. “Probably why Ruby’s going to give up on me altogether: just not worth the effort…”

And again, had it been anyone else, Neal’s heart might have broken a little. 

Except Hook was still a selfish bastard, so screw him.

“Yep, probably,” Neal agreed shortly.

Hook shot him a sideways glare. “You’re a cold man, Neal Cassidy,” he muttered. “A cold, cold man.”

“Well, I must be doing something right, because last I checked, _I_ was the only who still had a girlfriend.” 

“Only Emma,” Hook scoffed, as if she hardly counted. 

“As opposed to your… _?_ Oh, right—nobody.”

“She’s not broken up with me yet!”

“Key word: _yet._ ”

Hook pressed his lips together tightly, and went back to glowering straight ahead. Neal flicked his eyes in derisive amusement, his anger lifting: maybe it was just being back in the city he loved, but it was difficult to stay all that cross with Hook. 

“Come on,” he said, bumping his shoulder. “Stop pouting, I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“Like a little girl.”

“I’m _not._ ” But for all his objections, his mood seemed to have lifted some—cheered by the prospect of free breakfast. “Where would we be getting this coffee, exactly?”

“Diner,” Neal shrugged. “There’s a million of them here— you can’t go ten feet without running into one.”

“A million diners…” And Neal could hear, just in his voice, that Hook was imagining a million diners with a million Granny’s and a million Health-Code-violating meatloaves. “I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“It’s not supposed to be emotionally provocative. You want a coffee, or don’t you?”

“…Yeah, all right, then.”

 

—————————————————————————-

 

He woke to the sound of Belle’s coffee grinder crushing Folger’s Winter Blend beans into brewable dust; breakfast crackling on the stove serving as background noise. Another moment of listening, and he’d caught Belle’s heels clunking around the kitchen; the fridge opening and closing; the radio at a soft hum. 

He rubbed his eyes, looking blearily down at himself as he shifted on the couch: still in his hoodie and jeans from last night, though someone had removed his shoes and placed them neatly under the table. His jacket was gone, too—probably hanging up in the closet. 

It took him another few minutes for his vision to adjust to the bright morning, and a bit more for his body to adjust to being awake: his joints still ached with weariness, cracking as he stretched his limbs. 

Last night had really taken a toll on him: he was exhausted, to say the least—not to mention, he hadn't gotten _any_ of that stupid History homework done, so Sister Astrid was going to pitch a bitch-fit.

“Meh,” he shrugged, getting up from the couch. Sister Astrid could stick it.

He wandered into the kitchen, aimlessly kicking the door open and letting it swing shut behind him Belle barely glanced over her shoulder, more occupied with the coffee preparation. “Hey, Henry.”

“S’up?” Henry yawned, leaning against the counter. “Where’s Grandpa?”

“Out,” Belle answered. “Family bonding time, apparently.” 

Her tone suggested she was more than a little offended she hadn't been included. Henry raised an eyebrow as she slammed a cupboard, setting the glasses to rattle.

“And how are you?” he asked, somewhat cautiously.

“Just dandy,” she said, forcing a smile. 

Henry nodded slowly, knowing that she specifically intended for him to understand that she was _not_ just dandy. “Something on your mind?” he asked, uncertain whether or not he was supposed to press her for details. “You seem…tense.”

“I’m not tense,” she said through her teeth. “You want coffee?”

Instinct told him the correct answer was, “I’m late for school”—which was probably for the best, as he _was_ late for school and spending more time with Belle significantly increased the risk of suffering her wrath. After all, he _had_ been the one to bring back Cora: Rumple had mentioned something about a jealous Belle, and Henry was now starting to piece together that she might not be feeling quite as warm or affectionate toward him as she normally did.

Indeed, she only made a half-hearted protest against his decision to walk, rather than letting her drive him. Henry swiped his coat from the closet, and his shoes from under the table, and was out the door in minutes.

Cold as it was, he didn't regret refusing Belle’s offer. There was something deeply unsettling about an angry Belle…An angry Regina was one thing, he was more than used to her fury; an angry Belle was a rarer creature, one that he had seen flashes of, but had never quite been on the receiving end. Hook, however, still had the scar from where she’d slammed a pole into his head. 

He shivered as an icy gust of riffled his hair, stealing through the worn sleeves of his coat. Here’s to hoping he wouldn't contract hypothermia, by the time he got to school…without his backpack, he realized, cursing under his breath as he switched directions, now headed for David and Snow’s building. He dug his hands deeper in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, to protect himself against the cold wind. In just a few weeks, he’d turn fifteen — _for reals—_ and then he’d be old enough to get his permit, then his license, and then he wouldn't have to walk around, half-frozen to death, because he’d forgotten his stupid backpack before resurrecting yet another family member. 

He’d been walking for a good ten minutes, when he caught the sound of tires crunching snow behind him: sure enough, when he turned around, he saw Dr. Whale in his little black car, squinting at him. 

Henry slowed as Whale lowered his window, rolling along at a snail’s pace now. “Missed the bus?” he frowned.

“Kinda,” Henry shrugged. “I forgot my backpack at the loft, so I have to double-back and get it.”

“You want a ride?” Whale offered. “It’s on my way.”

“The hospital’s in the complete opposite direction.”

“Yeah, but you’re a potential patient of mine—especially if you keep walking around in this weather.”  Whale stopped the car to prop the passenger door open, and jerked his head. “Get in.”

Henry gave him half a smile. “Thanks,” he said as he sat down, pulling the door shut behind him. 

The doctor shrugged, muttering something about “don’t worry about it”, and continued driving down the road. Henry looked out the window, the houses passing by in a blur of faded Christmas decorations. 

“Had a nice Christmas?” he asked Dr. Whale. 

“Not really.”

“Oh.” Henry drummed his fingers on the window, blowing out a breath. “Well, did you get anything good?” he tried again. “Graham seems like he’d be a good gift-giver—”

“Why would Graham get me something?” Whale scoffed, a little too quickly for Henry not to be interested. “I mean—Graham’s just—we’re not—I don’t even think of him like that.”

Henry raised his eyebrows, his mind immediately jumping to Graham’s flustered behavior at the station the other day. “Okay, so….I really, really, _really_ want to ask, because something tells me that something happened, and you’ve been overthinking it and gotten all defensive because it’s a huge deal—”

“Nothing happened,” Whale said, sounding frustrated with himself. 

Maybe nothing happened with _Whale,_ but there was definitely something going on with Graham. Completely disregarding the fact that he had plenty more to concern himself with than Whale’s and Graham’s personal, he tried to piece together what he knew.

Let’s see…Graham had been hanging out more with Jefferson…and Jefferson had tried to kiss him at one point, at least according to Ava’s gossip network. Maybe something had happened between _those_ two, and Whale was aware of it, and—oh, sweet Jesus, was he _jealous?_ Henry had suspected Whale harbored feelings for Graham earlier than anyone else in town, all the way back to the morning of Belle and Rumple’s vow renewal—he hadn't realized how impatient he was to see them come to something! Nor how eager he was to watch it all play out (though in his defense, this was probably the juiciest piece of gossip to hit the town since the whole _We’re-all-cursed-fairy-tale-characters-who-don’t-remember-our-real-lives_ debacle). 

“So…” Henry searched for a delicate way to ask. “Is Graham gay or what?”

“You’d have to ask Graham,” Whale said through his teeth. 

“Don’t you know?”

“Look, Henry, I offered you a ride out of the goodness of my heart. I have literally no problem ignoring that goodness, and letting you foot the rest of the way.” Whale glanced from side to side before making a left turn. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Such as…?”

“I don’t know—how’s school?”

“Fine.” Henry shrugged, considering. “Well, not exactly _fine—_ more like, ‘okay’. I’m flunking English.”

“You are?” Whale spared him a sideways glance, as if unsure if he heard him correctly. “ _You’re_ flunking English?”

“Yup.”

“You don’t seem very concerned about it,” Whale observed.

Henry snorted. “Storybrooke High is a fake school, just like this is a fake town. Why would I be concerned?”

“Because it’s not a fake school,” Whale frowned. “Theory of relativity, kiddo. If you’re accepting everything else in this town as part of reality—which you _have_ to, because this town _is_ your entire reality, created by magic or not—then you have to accept your school, and its grades, as reality. And you’re never going to get into college to be a whatever-you-want-to-be if you’re flunking.”

“Just English,” Henry objected. 

“English is important, too.” Whale must have felt Henry’s skeptical eyes on him, because he added, “In its own way.”

“Yeah, well…” Henry trailed off as his phone buzzed. Probably Emma or Regina, demanding to know where he was, what he was doing, why he was late for school. “Oh,” he said in surprise, realizing it was from Rumple. 

“What is it?”

“It’s my grandpa…” Henry trailed off, frowning deeper as he read the text. “Apparently, I’ve got a meeting after school.”

“Parole officer?” Whale suggested dryly.

“Clients.”

“ _Clients?_ ”

“For my necromancy business.”

“I’m sorry, did you say necromancy _business?”_

 _“_ Oh, right—I forgot to tell you.” Henry cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “So, like—you remember how I brought Graham back from the dead?”

Whale flicked his frantic eyes between Henry and the road. “Yeah?”

“Well, I’m actually pretty fucking good at it, so I brought back Cora, and I guess Grandpa’s been spreading the word that I’m open for business, so—”

“ _Brought back Cora?_ ”

“It’s just another grandmother,” Henry shrugged. “Not all that— _DUDE!_ ”—as Whale slammed his foot on the brakes. “What the _hell?_ ”

“You brought back another one?” Whale said in disbelief. 

“Learn to drive, man! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“He brought back another one,” Whale said numbly, staring straight ahead. “Unbelievable. I dedicate my entire career to the science of resurrection, and he manages it between his morning pop-tart and first period.”

Henry blinked several times. “Sorry,” he offered after a minute. “I, uh…didn’t mean to steal your legacy there, bro.”

“And you’re selling it?” Whale turned to him incredulously, as though he were some kind of disgrace. “Like it’s a piece of merchandise?”

“I’d say, it’s more like a service than a product, but—”

“You called it a _business!_ I mean—what is it, ten bucks a pop? Seven for the Friday special?”

“I’d charge a little more than that, I wanted to put some of it in my college fund—”

“Unbelievable!” Whale threw up hands, shouting at the ceiling. “Is this a joke to you? Huh? You think this is funny, you sick bastards?”

“Who are you talking to?” Henry asked, feeling a little alarmed.

“I don’t know—fate? Destiny? The dickhead gods who specifically designed my entire existence to be a cosmic punchline?” Whale dropped his head on the steering wheel, exhaling through his teeth. “God, I hate my life…”

Henry watched him for a few minutes, unsure how to handle the situation. “Are you okay?”

“No, but…” Whale lifted his head miserably, letting out a sigh. “I s’pose that’s just par for the course, when it comes to me.”

“Hey, come on,” Henry said, trying to reassure him. “It’s—it’s not all that bad, is it?”

“It’s exactly that bad.” 

 _Christ._ First Belle, now Whale…Not a great track record this morning. So far, bringing back Cora had  accomplished: making Belle feel insecure and excluded from the family; reminding Whale that he’d basically failed his life’s ambition and had wasted decades in pursuit of something Henry had picked up in a matter of months; and this was just spit-balling, but he was guessing that Cora wasn't exactly making _friends_ right now, considering her poisonous personality and general bitchiness, so he’d imposed a major inconvenience on the town at large. 

_Okay, executive decision: either start deeply considering the potential effects of bringing certain individuals back, or find some dumb jabroni to employ and blame him when things go wrong._

Instantly, he thought of Rumple, which would have been perfect….except Rumple had already endured so many years of being the town scapegoat, every time something went wrong. Of course, the argument back was that, it would be nothing new for Rumple—he’d practically be expecting it. But the morality surrounding that option was _questionable,_ at best—

“Henry, are you listening to me?”

“No…” Henry replied, still half-lost in his thoughts. He decided to file them away for later, and turned to Dr. Whale with raised eyebrows. “What’s up?”

Whale gave him a vaguely disapproving look. “I said, I don’t have all day—you want to run up there and get your stuff, or what?”

He hadn't even noticed that they were now parked in the apartment complex’s lot—nor had he realized that Whale assumed he’d be dropping Henry off at school, as well. That was nice of him, he reflected briefly, feeling a flicker of affection for the doctor. Poor Whale: he was such a good…such an _okayish_ guy, he deserved better.

“Thanks, Dr. Whale,” he said, getting out of the car. “I’ll only be a minute.”

“All right, go on.”

Yes, Henry decided as he jogged up the steps. Whale definitely deserved better, poor guy. There were _so_ few people Henry could actually tolerate, but the good doctor was definitely one of them. Whale had been the one Henry had turned to when he’d first started this whole necromancy thing, and he’d helped him with Graham, supported him when he finally revealed his secret to the town, proved himself to be a…a friend? A mentor? A surprisingly decent guy? 

Maybe there was something he could do for him—someone he could bring _back_ for him. He wouldn't even charge him, not really: just a small consultation fee for time that could have been spent on paying customers. 

 _No,_ he thought firmly. _I’ll waive the fee._

For Dr. Whale, he would waive that fee. 

 

—————————————————————————-

 

The waitress twitched her red lips to the side as she pulled the pen from behind her ear, and set it to her worn notepad. “All righty, boys,” she croaked though her cigarette-stained Brooklyn accent. “What’s it going to be?”

“Uh…” Neal glanced across the table at Hook, who was still moodily perusing his menu, letting the pages drop from his fingers. “You know, I think we’re going to need a few minutes. Maybe just some coffee for now?”

“Two coffees, coming up.”

Neal nodded a “thanks” as she left, his smile fading the further she got; when she’d disappeared behind the counter, he leaned across the table and hit Hook in the shoulder. 

“Excuse me, _ow,_ ” Hook said in annoyance, looking up from his menu with a glare. 

“Sorry,” Neal said, not sorry at all. “But you’ve got to stop with the moping, already.”

“Would that I could,” Hook exhaled, and Neal could tell from the faraway look in his eye, he was preparing to deliver one of his melancholy speeches. “But my heart is broken, scarred by size eight knock-off Prada heels—”

“Two coffees.” The waitress unceremoniously slammed two cups down, coffee slopping over the edges. Neal silently thanked her for cutting Hook’s speech short, taking up a napkin to wipe down his cup. Hook eyed his own disdainfully, making mo move to pick it up.

“Thank you,” he said after a minute. “What impeccable service.”

She raised heavily-penciled eyebrows. “You boys know what you want, yet?”

“No, I think we’d like a few more minutes, darling,” Hook said, giving her a patronizing smile. 

“Fine.” She stuck her pen behind her ear again, and walked off, the smell of old cigarettes and cheap perfume lingering even after she left. Hook made a noise of disgust, and pushed the cup further away, as if the mere sight offended him. 

“Drink your coffee,” Neal admonished. “It’s good for you.”

“I much prefer this,” Hook said, reaching into his jacket for his flask. Neal gave him an exasperated look as he tilted it back and took a long draw from it. 

“Rum? Really? At nine in the morning?”

“It soothes the soul. And I assure you, Neal, my soul is in great need of…” He trailed off, staring at Neal with an incredulous frown. “What are you doing?”

Neal blinked. “Drinking my coffee?”

“But you—you didn't put any half-and-half in it!” Hook protested.  “Here—” he scooped up a handful tiny creamers and tossed them at Neal—“put these in there, before you burn a hole through your stomach.”

“No, no, no—I only drink it black,” Neal told him, shaking his head. “I had a bad experience once. The cream separated in my coffee, and it got all flaky-looking and floated on top…It was disgusting. I’ve never used it since.”

Hook scoffed. “Ridiculous,” he muttered into his flask, but thankfully, didn't push the matter. He took another draw of rum, and capped it, stowing it back into his pocket. “I’ve got to keep my wits about me,” he explained in response to Neal’s skeptical expression. “This city is more dangerous than all seven seas, and I’ve faced the likes of Charybdis.”

“That’s a lie,” Neal snorted.

“Fine, it’s a lie,” Hook shrugged. “But I’ve met my share of monsters. I’ve seen Granny in her night cream.”

Neal suppressed a shudder at the mental image of a bathrobed Granny with curlers and green face cream. “And on that disturbing note…”

“Of course, I’ve played the part of the monster myself, over the years,” Hook went on. “Remember, I was the most feared pirate captain in all the realms.”

Which Neal found impossible to picture, right now. Maybe it had been easier to believe, when he was a scrawny fourteen-year-old, half-drowned and collapsing on the deck of a pirate ship; but considering that this was the same guy who’d once called him in the middle of the night to ask, “Wait, so Bruce Willis was supposed to dead _the whole time?”…_?

“…and that was just in the villages. Country folk, you know? Scare easily. But even my crew were terrified of me! And that was sort of what I was going for, because I take a very Machiavellian approach to leadership—you know, to be feared is better to be loved, and so on and so forth—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—how do you know Machiavelli?” Neal frowned. “You’re not smart.”

“I know,” Hook said, nonplussed. “But Belle is. And I occasionally listen when she talks.”

“And Niccolo Machiavelli comes up enough for you to remember?”

 “She mentioned him, I don’t know—his last name was fun to say, so I remembered. _Point being,_ I liked my crew to fear me rather than love me, because it’s a quick way to earn temporary loyalty. Now—” Hook cleared his throat, as if preparing to impart wisdom—“the best way to scare a group of people at large is—”

“Hockey mask and a chainsaw?” Neal suggested dryly.

“ _Unpredictability,_ ” Hook said, giving him a stern look. “I’d let my temper go off sporadically. I’d randomly kill a guy and loot his corpse, for a minor offense. _Really,_ ” he nodded, seeing Neal’s skeptical look. “What, you don’t think I’d have to the guts to do that? I was the most fearsome, bloodthirsty, black-hearted pirate legend in all the realms!”

“Yeah, I know, you told me,” Neal exhaled. 

“Then what’s with the eye-rolling?” Hook demanded. “You don’t believe me?” Without waiting for an answer, he slammed his elbow on the table, fanning open his fingers to show him his rings. “You see this?” he said, (strategically) indicating the ring on his middle finger. “I got it off a guy named Edgar.” He smiled briefly. “Called me ‘One-Handed Jones’, so I drowned the bitch.”

“For calling you ‘One-Handed Jones’?”

“Yep.”

“But you _are_ ‘One-Handed Jones’,” Neal pointed out.“I’m not even sure that’s an insult.”

“I got more,” Hook said, ignoring him and holding out his thumb ring. “This one here? Alexander Smook. Old man I used to keep around for swabbing the deck. Also, the parrot on his shoulder was a _riot,_ let me tell you. See, Alex had taught it all these dirty jokes, and it….eh, never mind, you had to be there. _Anyway,_ I caught him drinking the captain’s wine, so I gutted him with my hook, and tossed him on the deck for the whole crew to see, while he bled to death.”

“What happened to the parrot?” Neal asked. 

“Monty lived a good long life, he’s in a better place now,” Hook sighed, looking genuinely sad. “Poor Monty.”

“You’re aware that you’re showing more compassion for a parrot than an actual human being right now?”

“He was a very _good_ parrot.”

Neal shook his head, and muttered, “You’re so fucking weird.” 

“I know,” Hook agreed with a little shrug, putting away his hand in favor of lifting his coffee cup to his lips—huge mistake, apparently, because he started coughing and gagging. 

“You already threw your little tantrum over the coffee, why are you drinking it?” Neal said exasperatedly.

“I forgot,” Hook choked. “Good God Almighty, that’s _disgusting!”_

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Neal scoffed. “It’s diner coffee, what are you expecting?”

Hook glowered at his cup, shoving it away. “I miss Ruby’s coffee,” he muttered, unfolding a line of napkins to clean up the spilled coffee. “She had a great coffee maker.”

“You know who has good coffee?” Neal said; and without giving him time to answer: “David.”

“David’s got good coffee,” Hook nodded. “And you make pretty good coffee, except your brewer is too slow.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about getting a new one, but it’s always a gamble, you know?” Neal sighed. “Because I might get a better machine, but find that it doesn’t make coffee like the old one, and I really like my one now.”

“Best to leave it,” Hook decided. “I’d rather wait an extra ten minutes for a decent cup, than _not_ wait for a crappy cup.”

“My dad’s got this fancy little machine, and he—”

“—makes the _worst_ coffee known to man,” Hook shuddered. “I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.”

“Hmm,” Neal said vaguely, checking his phone as it _ping!_ ed with a text from Emma: _Call me._

“Who’s that?” Hook frowned.

“Emma…” Neal said, typing back a quick reply. “She wants me to call her.”

“Ugh.” Hook rolled his eyes. _“Emma._ ”

“Yep.” Neal tucked his phone away, and looked back at Hook. “Hey, what happened with you two, anyway? You used to be friends.”

“We _are_ friends,” Hook said, nonplussed. “I hate her in that special way you can only hate someone you’re friends with. Like Regina with Snow, or Leroy with everyone.”

Neal raised his eyebrows. “Oh, wow. It’s almost sweet when you put it like that.”

“It is, isn't it?” Hook said serenely, missing the irony.

Stealing a quick glanced at the clock, Neal swiped his cup up and drained the last of his coffee. “You want to go?” he said, already getting up from his chair and shrugging on his jacket. “I mean, you don’t really have a choice, I got shit to do—but you want to go?”

“Yes, please,” Hook said, snagging Neal’s scarf with his hook to drape around his neck. “Where are we going?”

“Landlord’s. I’m dropping off the paperwork, then we’ll go get the rest of my stuff from the apartment.”

“You mean, there’s _more?”_ Hook said incredulously. “We spent all bloody day yesterday moving boxes, how can there be more?”

Neal shrugged noncommittally, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He tossed a few bills down, and snapped it shut, waving it at Hook. “Always tip your waitress,” he said with a wink. 

Hook crinkled his brow. “Are you quoting something, or is this random Neal wisdom?”

“Forget it.” Neal reached over and reclaimed his scarf from Hook’s neck, ignoring the indignant protests. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Give me the scarf,” Hook demanded.

“I’m not giving you the scarf,” Neal said, shaking his head.

“I’ll freeze!”

“Well, maybe you should go out and buy a decent winter coat,” Neal said, giving his slutty leather jacket a meaningful look. Hook crossed one arm over it defensively.

“I love this jacket, how dare you insult it,” he glowered. 

“And I’m terribly sorry for offending your trashy wardrobe. Can we go?”

“Fine.” Hook dropped his arm, following Neal around the table and out the door. “Let’s just pray I don’t freeze to death on the way over.”

“Would it be so terrible if you just bought a normal coat?” Neal asked, as they joined the sidewalk traffic. “It’s not like we won’t recognize you if you don’t wear the exact same thing every day.”

“But I won’t feel like myself,” Hook explained. “Leather is sexy.”

“Hypothermia isn’t.”

“And Ruby likes it.”

“Hypothermia?”

“ _Leather,”_ he clarified exasperatedly. “Ruby likes leather. on me. More specifically, she likes it—”

“Off you, I know,” Neal sighed.

“Actually, I was going to say, ‘on _the floor’,_ but…” Hook exhaled; he closed his eyes, shaking his head. “God, what’s the point? She’s going to break up with me, I _know_ it.”

“You’ll get her back, you always do,” Neal said noncommittally, turning to sidestep a frazzled businesswoman jabbering on her phone. “You guys break up once a week, don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Yeah, but— _ow!”—_ as the businesswoman slammed into him—“Don’t you give me that look, that was all _you,_ lady!—Neal, you don’t understand. This time, it’s serious.”

“You always say that.”

“But this time I _mean_ it.”

“And you always say _that,_ ” Neal sighed. 

“But Neal—”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he exclaimed, whirling around. “Are you that fucking stupid? Listen—” he took Hook by the shoulders, giving him a shake to startle him—“I don’t know how the inside of _your_ head works, but it’s painfully obvious to the rest of us that you two are stuck together! You know why?”

“Because underneath all the screaming, she loves me?” Hook suggested hopefully. 

Neal blinked. “Okay,” he said after a long time. “Okay, let’s—let’s go with that, that sounds better.”

“Sounds better than what?”

Neal closed his eyes, shaking his head as he turned back into the crowd. Hook followed, keeping a close step behind him as he insisted, “Better than what? Better than _what,_ Neal?”

“Nothing. You two are very in love, and we’re all rooting for you kids to pull through. Here, this is us—” Neal pulled him to the side as they reached the apartment complex. Hook scrunched his nose, looking up distastefully at the building he’d gotten far too acquainted with over the last few days while Neal fished the key out. 

“How did you keep coming home to this place?” he said, letting Neal nudge him through. “Good God, man…”

“You lived on a diseased pirate ship with unwashed octogenarians and rum-soaked criminals for centuries,” Neal reminded him.

“Hmm. Fair point.” Hook glanced around as Neal steered him through the entry, a reminiscent smile on his face. “Still, we do have some good memories here, don’t we? Right there, look—that’s where I stabbed your father with dream shade—had to shove your girlfriend out of the way to get a clean shot at him, sorry about that—”

“Not okay.”

“If it makes you feel better, she smashed a board over my head—knocked me out cold.”

“It does. Thank you.” 

The interaction with the landlord was brief: Neal had ordered Hook to wait outside, and leaving him alone for too long was never a good idea; that, and he hadn't prepared much material in the way of, _“Cassidy, where have you been the last few years?”_ or _“Seriously—you disappeared. What happened?”_ Thankfully, Jimmy had always been a neglectful landlord and didn't ask too many prying questions; just accepted his papers with sleepy mumble, and waved him out the door. 

He found Hook dawdling in front of the bulletin board, studying the various notices. “Hey—” he lightly punched his shoulder—“let’s go.”

“Okay…” Hook murmured, lingering as his eyes ran over a “Lost Pet!” notice. “Ah, poor Sparkles…she’ll never make it.”

“Hey, come on. Have some confidence in Sparkles—she’s a fighter.”

Hook _tsk_ ed doubtfully, still shaking his head as Neal pulled him away. “Mark my words…that little Chihuahua is gong to come home in a very tiny body bag.”

“That’s horrible.”

“That’s life.”

Jimmy hadn't bothered to fix the elevator in the past three years (no doubt his extremely busy schedule kept him from that), so they had to use the stairs. Hook spent the first two flights lamenting Sparkles, and the last two chatting up every girl they passed .“To keep my spirits up,” he explained to a humiliated Neal. “I’m upset about Ruby, I’m upset about Sparkles—”

“Okay, but could you do me a favor?” he cut in, keeping a firm grip on Hook’s elbow as he steered him to the door. “Stop making eye contact with people. Don’t wink at the girls, don’t smirk at their boyfriends…Try to be as invisible as possible, okay?”

“Invisible?” Hook scoffed back. “I’d be doing the world a disservice. Look at this handsome face!”

“Whatever.”

“Yeah, but Neal, look at this handsome face,” he insisted, crowding Neal as he stopped to unlock the door. “Neal—”

“I know!” Neal said exasperatedly. “I’m familiar, okay? Enough with the ‘handsome face’ already! Jesus…”

The lock clicked, and he shouldered the door open, letting Hook follow in his wake as he walked into “the New York apartment” for what was very likely the last time _ever._

 _“_ Ready to say goodbye to this dump?” Hook muttered beside him.

Neal took a deep breath, taking in the sight of his old home with a mixture of nostalgia and relief. It wasn't as though he’d had so many _good_ memories here…maybe a handful, here and there, but nothing that really should have made, as Hook so eloquently phrased it, “saying goodbye to this dump” all that difficult.

It was the city, he was going to miss. The apartment was his last foot in New York, and once that was gone? Storybrooke—fucking _Storybrooke_ —was his home. The world he’d been trying to escape his entire life now _became_ his entire life. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to picture an alternate reality: him, Emma, and Henry, living in New York…happy, thriving, normal. 

“Neal, my handsome face is getting wrinkles over here, hurry up,” Hook said briskly, snapping his fingers. 

“Right. Sorry.” Neal gave his head a little shake, and beckoned Hook to follow him. “All right, c’mere….grab those two over there, I’m going to just go around, make sure I didn't forget anything…”

“What could you have forgotten?” Hook muttered. “David’s truck already looks like a basement on _Hoarders._ ”

Neal pointed straight ahead, his eyes already fixed on the netted circle hanging in the window. “Dreamcatcher.”

“Dreamcatcher?”

“Emma’s dreamcatcher,” he said, moving past him. “She found it in one of the motels, back when we were on the road.” He lifted it off the hook, smiling faintly at the memory of a bespectacled Emma dangling it from her fingers. “Flypaper for nightmares.”

“Howzit what now?”

“Never mind,” Neal exhaled. “It’s a whole thing, don’t worry about it. Just get those boxes.”

“ _Yes, Master._ ”

Hook swept him a mocking bow, and went on to complain (in a highly audible voice) about being the equivalent of Neal’s pack mule. Neal ignored him, too engrossed in the dreamcatcher to listen: he ran his thumb across the interwoven cords, down the frayed feathers… It had been the first thing he’d hung in this apartment; it seemed only fitting that it was the last to leave. 

It was supposed to hang in their first home, in Tallahassee. Not the car—an actual _home._ That’s what they were supposed to do: ditch the Bonnie-and-Clyde routine, and kick back on the beach, just the two of them. He frowned, flicking the dreamcatcher. _Couldn't catch one good dream for us?_ he thought. _Kept all the nightmares, didn't you?_

“Neal…” Hook’s footsteps drifted over. “Hey, listen, uh…I don’t want to interrupt whatever emotional moment you’re having over here, but do you think you could wrap it up? I’m bored. I want to go back to the motel and watch _America’s Next Top Model._ ”

Neal frowned, lowering the dreamcatcher to give him an incredulous look.“You’re in the greatest city in the world, and you want to sit in your room and watch T.V.?” 

“The greatest city in the world is Tortuga, and when the challenge is ‘Sexy Lingerie and Pillow Fights’, hell yes.” Hook adjusted the boxes in his arms and exhaled, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “You want a few more minutes to reminisce, or can we go?”

“I’d like a few minutes to judge you and reconsider whether or not I want to be friends with a guy who thinks _Tortuga_ is the greatest city in the world.”

“Wenches and beer, what’s not to love?” Hook said shortly. 

“Oh, good. _Wenches._ That’s classy.”

“Wenches aren't supposed to be classy,” he scoffed, following Neal into the bedroom. “Have you ever seen a wench? They’re sexy barmaids, Neal—borderline whores.”

“Like your mom?” Neal returned acidly, glancing around for lingering possessions. 

“No. My mother was a straight-up whore, there was no borderline about it.” Hook dropped the boxes on the bed, and fell back beside them, folding his arms under his head; he stared up at the ceiling, a wistful look in his eyes. “Imagine Ruby as a wench…”

“Do you honestly think Ruby would appreciate you trying to envision her as a slutty barmaid?” Neal asked, raising an eyebrow. “I feel like that remark just earned you a slap upside the head.”

“You don’t know her like I do,” Hook said absently. “She’d pretend to get mad if other people were around, but she’d love it. She loves attention…loves hearing that she’s beautiful…loves telling me I’m an asshat…” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Goddamn it. Now you made me think about her and I’m sad again.”

“Ah, come on,” Neal said, nudging him. “You’re a brave little soldier. You’ll pull through.”

“I suppose I’ve survived worse,” Hook reflected. “Your father’s wrath. Your father’s _coffee.”_

“Speaking of coffee, do you want to stop somewhere on the way back?” Neal asked, stepping back to allow him space to stand up. “I could use another round, that diner coffee really didn't do it for me.”

“You have an addiction,” Hook sighed, even as he patted his jacket pockets for his flask. “It’s a sickness, Neal. You need help.” He popped open the top of his flask, and took an appreciative swig, exhaling loudly as he swallowed. “ _Ah….”_

Neal slit his eyes witheringly, which Hook acknowledged with a chuckle, shaking his finger. 

“I know what you’re thinking, but here’s where you’re mistaken: I have a _slight_ alcohol problem. You, my friend?” He shook his head, _tsk_ ing shamefully. “This coffee situation is getting out of hand.”

“Are you _high?_ Craving a decent, satisfying cup of coffee is totally and completely normal—”

“You were the one who said, _‘Drink it, it’s fine—_ ’”

“You were making a ridiculous fuss about it! It wasn't that _bad,_ but it wasn't good enough—”

“Oh, here we go.”

“What ‘here we go’?

“Here we go with, Neal Cassidy: Coffee Connoisseur. Here we go with an in-depth discussion on _roast type_ and _the richness factor—_ ”

“Do you know how many hours I’ve spent listening to the intimate details of your relationship? You can  stand _one_ discussion of roast type, when I’ve had to endure at least forty about Ruby’s _limberness—_ ”

“Ha! Like you wouldn't want to hear about it, anyway!”

“When it’s reference to all the kinky shit she does to you? No! I wouldn’t!”

They bickered all the way out the door and down the stairs, continuing in frustrated whispers as they made their way back to the cluttered streets. To the rest of the New York, they probably looked like two guys arguing over normal guy-things; to the one eavesdropping homeless guy Neal stopped to toss a couple bucks to, they must have sounded completely mental:

“You’re well over two hundred years old, Neal! Surely you’re mature enough to handle a conversation about what goes on between consenting adults!”

“That doesn't change the fact that I don’t want to hear about the effect the full moon has on a werewolf’s sex hormones!”

“A _hot_ werewolf! An insanely hot werewolf! With an insanely hot pirate captain! Who _wouldn't_ want to hear about that?”

“Gee, I don’t know— _anybody who knows you?”_

“You’re being a child! You _do_ know what goes on between Rumple-‘Sugar Daddy’-Stiltskin and little Miss Belle, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want to hear about _that,_ either!”

“Well, that’s understandable, he _is_ your father….”

Neither of them noticed the homeless guy staring incredulously after them as they strode away, wondering if perhaps his schizophrenia was flaring up again. 

Hook didn't allow Neal to stop for a proper cup of coffee, like he wanted: in fact, he hardly allowed him a word in edgewise, until they got to the motel. The argument had gone from irritated hissing to angry mutters to full-on shouting by the time Neal slammed the door shut behind them.

“—don’t _care_ if you don’t want to hear it, I need to talk about it! You’re my best friend, I should be able to confide in you! But _no,_ you have to be _stoic_ and _aloof_ because you’re so goddamn better than the rest of us mortals—!”

“But you’ve already confided the same bullshit to me a million times! There’s nothing more I can do! I’ve listened to your Ruby-problems more than any one man should be capable of, and you’re accusing me of _ignoring you?_ ”

“That’s different!” Hook raged. “Sure, you’ve listened, but you don’t have any bloody choice, because I refuse to shut up! My point is, you don’t provide wisdom or council—or at the very least, _solace!_ Have some compassion!”

Neal threw his arms up frustratedly “I’m too exhausted for compassion! And I _have_ offered you wisdom and council, you dumbass! What do you think all that stuff about, _Hey, she’ll get past it, you two will always end up together_ was for? My own personal entertainment?”

“Do you really think your empty words and half-hearted reassurances make a difference?” Hook glowered. “You don’t know how lucky you are! You’ve already found the love of your life, and she’s as mad about you as you are about her! Do you know how that looks to someone like me? Someone who’s spent his entire life chasing after hearts and coming up short, breaking my own in the process?”

“Oh, Lord, he’s getting poetic now,” Neal muttered, closing his eyes. 

“You’re goddamn right, he’s getting poetic now!” Hook spat. “For Christ’s sake, Neal—you already have _everything!_ A woman who loves you, a son who adores you, a father who’d give his life for you, and whatever I count for! Is it so much to ask that you lend me a moment of kindness?”

He must have (correctly) sensed that Neal was about to argue, because he stepped forward with an earnest look in his eyes, resting his hand and hook on Neal’s shoulders. “I _know,_ I’m the last person in the universe with the right to ask for it, but couldn't you just overlook the fact that I’m a reprehensible human being, however angelically beautiful, and keep me from falling apart?”

Neal looked at him for a long time, unable to fathom the completely ridiculous and pathetic man before him. “What do you want me to _do?_ ” he said finally. “What do you want me to say?”

Hook bit his lip. “I don’t know,” he said, lowering his arms. “Maybe just…some gentle honesty.”

“I think I can manage that.”

“ _Gentle_ honesty.”

“…I can _try_ to manage that.”

Hook nodded wearily, sinking to a seat on the bed. He adjusted his hook absently; twitched his fingers over his tangled necklaces; ran his hook along his jacket zipper. Neal waited with raised eyebrows.

“Any time you’re ready,” he prodded. “I’m happy to wait for the next few hours while you deliberate, but—”

“Do you think two hundred years as a pirate qualifies me as a bad enough guy to not get a happy ending? All innuendos aside?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you think Ruby will really take me back, even though I’m a bad guy?”

“I really do.”

“If I’m so terrible, why are you my best friend?”

“Because the universe has a twisted sense of humor, and you are, on occasion, cool.”

“But you _are_ my best friend?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“And you forgive me for all the stuff that went on with Emma a few years back?”

“Not entirely, but working up to it.”

“And all that stuff that happened when you were a boy?”

“Mmmm…no. No, I’m not over that.”

“Will you ever be?”

“Probably not.”

“Ah. Well, that’s fair, I suppose.”

Neal scratched the back of his neck, rocking back on his heels. “So…is that it?” he asked. “Any more questions?”

“I’m thinking…” Hook frowned, thoughtfully rubbing his chin; after a minute, he dropped his hand and looked up at Neal. “Do you believe in magic?”

“What?” 

“Do you believe in—?”

“No, no—I heard you, I just didn't understand the question.” Neal stared at him for a minute, trying to decide whether or not he was being serious. “You… _know_ who my father is, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You know where I come from?”

“Yeah.”

“You know that literally every other person—girlfriend, son, half-sister, future pets—all have magic?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it remotely possible for me to _not_ believe in magic?”

Hook smiled faintly. “I know that you know it exists, but I didn't ask you that,” he said, as though he were very wise. “I asked if you _believed_ in it. Can you put your faith in it? Do you believe in its power?”

“Are you just talking now to hear your own voice?” Neal asked exasperatedly.

“Point being, do you believe in all that stuff about True Love and how it overcomes everything?” he pressed. “Do you believe in all that stuff about heroes and villains, and getting happy endings?”

Neal lifted an eyebrow. “Where are you going with this?”

“To an entirely selfish place, regarding my own fate.” Hook snapped his fingers impatiently. “Come on, Neal: do you think I’m doomed to misery, yes or no?”

It was the first time Hook had ever been truly thought-provoking. He probably didn't realize how deep of a question he’d posed, but…the more he turned it over in his head, the more Neal realized how much it defined him. Not the bit about Hook’s personal misery, but: _Do you believe in it? Can you put your faith in it?_  

As a kid, his attitude toward magic had gone from disinterested awareness to fear to utter loathing; now, he pretty much tried to ignore it. He used to run from it, but after a while, it had just set in that no matter how fast and far he ran, he could never escape it. 

On the other hand, he had yet to see anything amount from “heroes” and “villains”: by all counts, his father and Regina should have been trapped in their own personal hells; prozac-dependent and widowed Robin should have been living Elysium; and Neal should have had a perfectly balanced, mediocre life, instead of the ridiculously tragic existence he’d endured up until a few years ago. 

“I think…” Neal paused, choosing his words carefully. “I believe in magic, but I don’t think we’re all characters in one story. ‘Hero’ and ‘villain’ are too relative of terms to confine us to a specific fate: we’re all the heroes in our own stories, so we all think we deserve a happy ending.”

Hook’s eyebrows flew up. “Oh, shit, you sound smart.”

“Thanks.”

“No, but you sound _smart,_ ” Hook said in awe. “Like—I don’t even know what you just said.”

Neal smiled briskly, nodding.

“So…” Hook raised his eyebrows, waving his hand. “I mean, I literally don’t know what you said, so could you…?”

“I don’t think you’re doomed to misery.”

“Oh, okay, good…Thank you, that’s a relief.”

“ _But,_ ” Neal added, holding up his hand, “that doesn't mean you get to be an asshole without consequences. Because regardless of Fate, Destiny, whatever you want to call it…actual living people will still punch you.”

“That’s to be expected,” Hook said, absently trailing his fingers around his jaw. “I’ve got a very punchable face.” He let out a sigh, and stood up, offering Neal a tired smile. “Thank you for your wisdom, Neal. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Neal exhaled. “You’re hopeless.”

 

—————————————————————————-

 

_I didn't mean to steal your legacy there, bro._

Whale shook his head, laughing disbelievingly as Henry’s words echoed in his head for the thousandth time. _Didn't mean to steal your legacy._ Right. Of course not. 

The thing was, Henry _didn't_ mean to steal it: he’d just done it, without even trying. Maybe, Whale realized with a start, maybe Henry hadn't stolen anything. Maybe it had been his legacy all along, and Whale had just been…wasting his time.

 _Well, that’s very encouraging, I’m glad I had_ that _epiphany,_ he thought irritably, skirting his way around a team of paramedics rushing a man into the I.C.U. Had he no purpose at all?

“Dr. Whale!” one of the medics yelled, chasing after him. “Dr, Whale, we need you!”

Whale stopped, looking up at the ceiling with a sigh. “I’ll be there in a minute,” he said wearily.

“We might not have a minute!” the medic insisted. “We’re losing him!”

“ _Fine_ …”

Forty minutes later, after the patient had been stabilized to his satisfaction, Whale strolled back out, resuming his melancholy chain of thought: _Where was I?…Oh, right—my life has no purpose._

It had been his dream to be the world’s greatest medical mind, to achieve the impossible: _to cure death._ All those years of studying and theorizing, groveling to his father for money…those sleepless nights trying to catch lightening, trying to survive the crushing disappointment of a thousand failed experiments. _Years_ and _years_ and _years…_ What did he have to show for it? 

A mild _Star Wars_ obsession and no social life.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

Well…that, and a zombie roommate. 

Who wasn't a zombie so much as a demigod. 

A demigod who had very recently starting questioning his sexuality.

 _Rock-hard abs!_ the little voice in his head chanted, the way it always did whenever Graham crossed his mind. _Rock-hard abs!_

Graham had rock-hard abs. Amazingly sexy rock-hard abs. Caramel-colored curls, smoldering dark eyes, and a smile that made Aphrodite swoon. And that accent, _God,_ that accent!

“Are you all right, Dr. Whale?”

He snapped his head up, startled by Marge’s sudden appearance. “What? Sure! Great! Fantastic! I mean, yeah, I’m good, I”m fine…” He straightened his tie, trying to appear casual, even as Marge smiled smugly at him. Clearing his throat, he grabbed the clipboard off the nearest cart, pretending as though he were extremely busy and had absolutely _no_ time to discuss that gleaming look of intrigue in Marge’s eye. “So, uh….looks like poor Benny’s having migraines again, maybe we should send him in for an MRI and make sure it’s not anything serious.”

“All right, then, I’ll let his doctor know,” Marge said cheerfully, plucking the clipboard out of his hands. “Dr. Whale—?”

“”Very busy, Marge, gotta keep moving—”

He tried to swivel past her, but she immediately hooked her elbow around his, turning him around to face her. She put her hands on her hips in mock sternness, beaming at him.

“Victor Whale,” she said, in an irritatingly affectionate way. “Now, you _stop_ skulking around like an alley cat, and tell me her name.”

“What?” Whale said, crinkling his brow. “What are you talking about? Whose name?”

“ _Hers,_ ” Marge said in a loud whisper. “Your secret girlfriend’s!”

“My what now?”

“Oh, come on, come on!” Marge giggled, dancing on her pudgy toes. “It’s obvious, Doctor! You can’t stop thinking about her! You’ve got all the classic symptoms: you’re distracted; you’re mopey; you’re always letting out these little sighs, like—” she heaved a theatrical sigh, gazing forlornly at the ground; then snapped her head back up delightedly. “You’re in _love!_ ”

Whale frowned, regarding her skeptically. “Actually, those ‘ _symptoms’_ sound more like depression and work-related stress, so…”

“It’s love,” Marge said flatly. 

“I think it’s depression.”

“It’s _love._ ”

“No, I really think it’s depression,” he shrugged. 

Marge closed her eyes, as though he were being intentionally difficult. “Dr. Whale,” she exhaled. “Now, listen: I may only be a nurse to you, but I have a Ph.D. in matters of the heart—”

“ _Aagh_ , now I need to kill something cute and fluffy.”

“—and I can tell you this much: you are in love, young man. Whether you like it or not.”

Whale looked at her for a long time, fighting the urge to smack the obnoxiously sweet smile off her stupid face. 

He wasn't in denial: he was aware he was attracted to Graham in way that made it _very_ difficult to be his roommate. But _attraction_ and _love_ were two very different things. 

 _Attraction_ was the extremely normal human reaction to, _Hey, I haven't had sex in forever, and my crazy-hot roommate likes to walk around without a shirt._ And Love? Well, he didn't know much about _love_ , having grown up the way he did…but he did have a very thorough background in physiology and neurology, and he knew that Love wasn't a whimsical rainbow of sparkles and magic: it was a chemical reaction with a psychological backdrop. Given a heated pillow for contact comfort; a snack mix for nourishment; and a healthy dash of oxytocin to blend it all together, he could have recreated Love a million times over. 

What he _could not_ create was the inhumanly beautiful specimen that was one Mr. Graham Humbert. That? That was in God’s hands…

“You know what, Marge?” he said finally. “I’m really worried about Benny. I’m going to go see about getting that M.R.I for him.”

He walked away, tucking the clipboard under his arm; he still hear Marge’s sing-song voice behind him, but he didn't bother listening. He had a purposeless life to get back to, and he wasn't going to waste another second of it on Marge: he had more important things to waste it on. Namely, his patients. 

With the closest thing to enthusiasm he could muster (a kind of frenzied resignation), he punched the elevator keyboard for the fourth floor; the doors slid open, and he stepped in, glancing over his papers to avoid talking to the other people inside. 

Small-talk, Whale had long ago decided, was one of the Devil’s special inventions: a waste of time, energy, and people skills. If only the rest of the world shared his sentiments…

“You’re concentrating awfully hard on those blank forms,” an amused voice observed. “Avoiding social interaction, Doctor?”

Whale looked up in surprise. “Archie, what are you doing here?”

“Ah, you know,” Archie exhaled, folding one wrist over the other. “I’m doing a patient evaluation in your psych ward.”

“Oh, no kidding. Who’s the patient?”

“One Miss Wendy Darling.” Archie cleared his throat, adjusting the glasses on the end of his nose. “Self-harm, I’m afraid. Apparently, two hundred years of being trapped in a box in Neverland really screws with your psyche.”

Whale sucked in a breath. “Sounds like a mess.”

“Eh—” Archie shrugged. “I’ve dealt with worse. I ever tell you about the diseased mind of Killian Jones?”

“I’m sure I’ll hear about it, next time he hits me up for free Jello.”

“Excuse me?”

“He hangs out in the empty wards to watch T.V. and eat Jello when he’s bored.”

“Hmm,” Archie nodded, already losing interest as his phone went off. He exhaled, exchanging a look with Whale, before putting it to his ear with a resigned, “Dr. Hopper.”

Whale pretended to glance over his forms again as he listened to Archie murmuring, “Mmm-hmm….mmm-hmm…No, no, that won’t be necessary, Robin. I’ll just call it in, you can pick it up at the pharmacy…Right….Okay, good, good—I’ll see you Wednesday. Hey, do me a favor? Remind Regina about those anger-management meetings she was supposed to be attending for me?…Thanks. All right, I’ll see you.”

He hung up the phone with a tired sigh, stowing it back in his inside pocket. “Robin,” he said, answering Whale’s silent question. “The man’s a Prozac-junkie.”

“Hey, I’d be depressed, too, if I was living with a pregnant Regina Mills,” Whale shrugged.

“Ah, well…it’s more than the pregnancy.” Archie smiled tightly, bitterness in his eyes. “Doctor-patient confidentiality prevents me from saying much more than this, but Robin’s a gentle soul, and our former queen is a _highly_ independent woman.”

“And a major bitch.”

“Yeah.”

“Right.”

Archie exhaled, shaking his head. “I just don’t get those two,” he said. “If there were ever two people in this world who should _not_ be together…”

“Sex,” Whale said promptly.

“Pardon?”

“Why they’re together,” Whale elaborated. “It’s funny, I was just thinking about this.”

“About why Robin and Regina are together?”

“No, about sex.”

“Right. Stupid question. Go on?”

“Love is a psychological state, created by the right chemicals and circumstances to create an atmosphere of safety and security,” Whale said earnestly. “When have Regina and Robin ever looked _remotely_ safe or secure? She dominates him, and he gets to tell himself he’s a good guy for loving a difficult woman! Love didn't keep them together, and love didn't get Regina pregnant!— _sex_ did.”

“Yeah, that’s—that’s usually how pregnancy works,” Archie blinked. 

“And what is sex, other than the right nerves firing to release neurotransmitters to the brain’s pleasure centers? Steering away from evolutionary theories and reproductive purposes, I mean.” He snapped his fingers in Archie’s face triumphantly. “Sex can be completely meaningless— in fact, most of the time, it is. It doesn't have to be that _special someone,_ just the right stimulus for optimal reaction!”

“Where are you going with this?” Archie asked, looking both confounded and curious. 

“Everyone in this damn town swears by the magic of _True Love_ and whatever other bullshit the fairies have been spoon-feeding you over the last few centuries. And you know what, that’s fine, it’s not your fault—that’s your world. _I,_ however, am fortunate enough to come from a world of _science,_ not magic. I don't _have_ to believe in True Love, or love at all—I can call it as I see it: a chemical reaction, interpreted by the brain as a favorable experience. Now—” Whale brought his arm around Archie’s shoulders,  leaning in confidentially—“the human brain is an extraordinarily complex and able piece of machinery—but flawed. It can be duped, it can be fooled. It’s an _interpreter,_ not an objective analyzer. Point being, given the right chemicals set off in the right direction, it can perceive one stimulus as another. Look at Robin: miserable son of a bitch, shackled to a tyrannical sex kitten, raising a mentally degenerate toddler in a world he barely understands. Should be enough to send him off the ledge—ah, but Prozac! Lowers the stress, heightens the serotonin—and suddenly, he’s not suicidal, he’s just _overwhelmed._ He’s taking the drugs to intentionally fool his brain into thinking his life is worth living, and we all know it’s not.”

The elevator doors slid open, but Whale was barely paying attention. He followed Archie, still jabbering on excitedly as the psychiatrist strode down the hall.

“We’re basically simulating _happiness,_ right? Simulating a relatively safe and secure environment, enough to keep the guy from pulling his own plug. Who’s to say we can’t expand that? We can create happiness—what’s stopping us from creating _love?_ Who needs the soulmates, the prophecies, the finding-each-other, when we could just simulate it? With a drug?”

“You’re talking about a theory,” Archie exhaled. “An interesting one, I’ll give you that, but it’s a theory. Love is more than chemicals, it’s an undefinable feeling—”

“I’m not arguing that,” Whale said impatiently. “But that’s why we take the advantage of the brain being a flawed interpreter. Trick it into thinking it’s feeling that undefinable feeling. Think of it, Archie: a drug that can combat all those feelings of loneliness and abandonment and never-being-wanted; clear out the broken hearts and tears, and just pump that brain full of rainbows and sparkles. Wouldn't that be something?”

“Sure, but—”

“You know, Rumple once told me that Science could never match up to Magic, that it would always be inferior. I almost believed him—there were so many shortcomings that Magic covered that Science couldn’t. _Resurrection,_ for instance—there’s no way to reanimate life with spark plugs and lightening, no way to reignite that Prometheian flame—”

“You should write a book,” Archie remarked. “You’re getting pretty poetic now.”

“This morning, I had my life’s ambitions stolen by a fifteen-year-old, so I either have to get a new passion or a cat. _Anyway—_ ” Whale cleared his throat, still matching Archie’s quick pace—“resurrection may be beyond my capabilities, I don’t have magic and I never will. I’m limited by science. But if I can define love using _strictly_ science—as in, not being held back by the constricted concept of Love _you_ guys have been taught—maybe I could recreate that. Maybe, Archie…” Whale stopped, holding him by the shoulder so he could gaze sightlessly into the distance. “Maybe I could bottle Love.”

A silence fell, during which Whale absorbed the fact that he was making a possible career change toward psychiatric drugs. And the fact that if he could pull this off, he was going to be fucking rich, because if there was ever a town that needed a drug to simulate Love and banish abandonment and insecure attachment issues, it was Storybrooke. 

Let’s see…what would he do with his money first?

Buy a vacation home in Maui? 

Buy _Maui?_

 _Thank you, Marge,_ he thought, a little smile curling his lips. If she hadn't irritated him so much, he wouldn't have worked himself into a tizzy over the ridiculousness of love and feelings, wouldn't have deromanticized it into basic chemistry…God bless Marge, and her fat fucking mouth. She’d just given him a new life mission.

Create Love. 

 _Simulate_ Love.

Never be referred to as “the Love-Doctor”, because that was weird, but “Psychiatric Genius” had a nice ring to it.

Okay, Henry Mills…raise the dead. Bring back Life.

But Life without Love…well, what kind of life was that?

 


	71. Chapter 71

_She touched the lace that crawled up her neck, held by the antique pearl button. A heavy veil hung from her head, descending from the knot of blonde hair piled under a rather dull tiara. The sleeves--tight around her arms, completely screwing with her ability to, well,_ move _\--were of a similar lace: also ugly, also heavy, also outdated. She stared at herself in the mirror, utterly humiliated._

_It was her wedding day...At what point she’d decided to have a wedding, she didn’t know, but for some reason that wasn’t the pressing concern. Right now, she was worried about...Emma frowned, tilting her head. What was she worried about?_

_“Emma.” Her mother’s gentle voice interrupted her thoughts, and she turned her head to see Snow standing in the doorway: a frozen smile on her lips, cold eyes that seemed to be internally screaming about something--she could almost hear it, and she fancied if she listened hard enough, she could, but Snow was speaking real words now. And very confusing ones, at that._

_“It’s time,” she said, an ominous tone in her voice. “Everyone’s waiting. Your father is ready to give you away to be married to the man you love.”_

_“Thanks, I--I know how a wedding works,” Emma said, still bewildered by the idea of her own wedding. Shouldn’t she have known about this beforehand? At least gotten a calendar notification from her phone?_

_“Come.” Snow held out her hand, the eerie smile still on her face. “Let’s go.”_

_“...Okay.ˆ Emma resisted the urge to turn on her heel and run (there was only one doorway and no windows, anyway--as if things weren’t creepy enough), and took her mother’s hand. “So, um--?”_

_“Shh.”_

_Emma didn’t appreciate being_ shh _ed at a time like this, but she barely had time to utter the “you” of “You did_ not _just_ shh _me!” before the doors were flung open and everyone in the church swiveled around to stare at her._

_The wedding march creaked out  of the old, wheezing harpsichord under Marco’s fingers, sending chills down Emma’s spine. It sounded more like a herald of death...her doom fast approaching._

_Something was definitely wrong. Everyone was acting peculiarly, their eyes dead and their smiles vacant: more like living photographs than people. Even_ she _felt fake--like a mannequin, modeling as a Grace-Kelly-dollar-store-knock-off. This was wrong, this was all so wrong._

_“Are you ready?” David said in a low voice, glassy-eyed as the rest._

_“No, I’m really just confused,” she muttered back, even as David hooked his elbow around hers. “I don’t even remember getting engaged, and now I’m getting married? Where’s Neal? I need to talk to Neal--”_

_“Neal?” David frowned. “Emma, Neal’s been dead for years.”_

_Which was obviously incorrect, but she couldn’t help gasping, tears rushing to her eyes in a sudden flood. “D-dead? Then who am I marrying?”_

_David nodded toward the front, where the dark-haired man (who, she only just realized, did_ not _have curly hair) was turning around with an eerie slowness. She half-expected his head to spin around and a demonic voice, but it was unnecessary because it was only a second before a pair of blue eyes fixed on her and terror struck her heart. A disembodied muddled British accent seemed to echo from all sides, surrounding her._

_“Hello, love.”_

_She screamed._

 

“Emma. _Emma!_ ”

Emma’s eyes snapped open, and she gasped, sitting up in a rush. Graham spit out the mouthful of hair she’d flung in his face, and coughed, taking his hand off her shoulder to cover his mouth. 

“You fell asleep at your desk,” he explained in a slightly strained voice.

“I fell--?” Emma swallowed hard, running her hands over her neck and down her sides, reassuring herself that there was no ugly lace dress in sight. She closed her eyes, sagging in relief as she touched her leather jacket and the denim of her skinny jeans. “Oh, thank God.”

“You all right?” Graham asked, walking back to his seat. “You were screaming.”

“Nightmare.” Emma lowered her hand, realizing she’d reached for the swan pendant that no longer hung around her neck. Regret sank in her stomach as the memory of last night—and the realization that her keychain was gone —settled on her. 

“Must have been a nasty one,” Graham remarked. “I’d say, maybe you’re overworked, but, um…” He waved a vague hand: o _verworked implies you’ve been working at all, and you don’t work._

 Which was a lie, because she _did_ work, she just didn’t have to do a lot when three people in the whole town were exclusively responsible for the crime rate, and the biggest culprit was out of state.

“Eh…whatever,” she sighed, too exhausted be angry with him. She was worn out physically, mentally, emotionally—shit was getting real in this town, and she didn't want to expend effort on starting a work-war with the least offensive guy in town.

“You…want to get out of here?” Graham offered, looking at her sympathetically “Get a cup of coffee or something?”

“Actually, what I’d really want right now is to find my keychain, but…” Emma shook her head. “That’s not going to happen.”

She knew she was being childish; knew that a thirty-four-year-old woman was more than capable of getting past the loss of a _keychain;_ knew that if Neal were here, he’d say something like, “You don’t need a keychain, Em—you got _me,”_ and everything would be fine.

Except Neal _wasn't_ here. And as comfortably and easily as they had lapsed back into their romance, it was still new enough that the insecurities and worries still needled her brain. That keychain had been her security blanket for so long; had served as a memento, a reminder, and existed as such a part of her that without it, she just felt… _off._

 _“_ It’s gone,” she explained in response to Graham’s questioning eyes. “Forever.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” he said, already getting up from his chair (Emma winced at the amount of “cheerful” in his voice). “I’m sure if we retrace your steps, and look around a bit—”

“No, it’s literally gone forever,” Emma interrupted. “Henry destroyed it in the well like the fucking Ring of Mordor.”

Graham was quiet for a minute, looking at her with an unreadable expression. “It’s…the Ring of _Power.”_

Emma blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s just…” Graham shifted, smiling uncomfortably. “You _said, ‘_ the Ring of Mordor’. But it’s actually ‘the Ring of Power’. Frodo destroyed it in Mordor.” He glanced up to see her staring at him incredulously for the detail he chose to fixate on. “Sorry, Victor’s got all the books at home, and I’ve been reading—”

“I don’t _care._ ”

“Right. Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma exhaled, feeling a pang of guilt for snapping at him. “It’s just…I’ve been having a rough couple of days. And with _last night,_ and then that scary-ass _nightmare…_ ” The vague image of the bridal gown and Hook’s gleaming, evil smile rose in her mind, and she shuddered. “ _God.”_

“Anything I can do?” Graham asked, going back to the report he’d abandoned. “Anything that’ll make you feel better?”

“Um…” A hopeful smile spread on her face. “Torching the bridal shop might help?”

“Mmm, that’s a great example to set for your fifteen-year-old.”

“Yeah, well, considering Henry’s _shenanigans_ lately, I doubt my bad influence will make a dent.” Emma folded her arms, leaning back in her seat with a heavy sigh. “I’ll tell you something, Teddy-Grahams…”

Graham closed his eyes in exasperation at his new nickname.

“…this whole parenting thing is tough. Especially when your kid is in the necromancy business. No offense,” she added quickly. “I’m thrilled that you’re alive and well—”

“Thanks, I’m pretty chuffed about it, myself.” Graham tossed the report to the side, apparently deciding it wasn’t worth the effort after all, and swiveled his chair toward her with raised eyebrows, tapping his fingers on the armrest. “All right, so what’s the gossip?” he prodded. “Last I checked, I was the only zombie in town, so who did your little delinquent resurrect?”

Emma spread her lips in a mirthless smile. “Ever hear of Cora Mills?”

“Nope—wait.” Graham frowned, tilting his head. “Did you say… _Mills?_ ”

“Mmm.”

“As in, Regina?”

“Her mom.”

“Her _mom?”_

 _“_ Yeah, she’s a real peach,” Emma said ruefully. “You know, she tried to kill us all a few years ago?”

Graham stared at her, as though he half-suspected she were lying. “And…Henry brought her _back?”_

“As per Regina’s request,” Emma said, restraining herself from going off on the rant that had already circled her head for the past six hours: that Regina resolving her mommy issues was great and all, but bringing back Cora to do it was more than stupid—it was self-sabotage. _Why_ she couldn’t just go to Archie like a normal person….

“Needless to say, we’ll be keeping a close eye on her,” Emma went on, letting out a tense breath as she added, “And Henry.”

Graham looked rather uneasily, but he nodded, trying for a smile. “Well. I’m…glad that they’re…trying to work things out. That’s good, th-that’s very good.”

“Mmm.” 

Her mind was already drifting away from Graham, back to the memories of last night. The more she thought about, the angrier she felt. Or maybe it wasn’t anger—maybe it was fear. Maybe it was seeing Henry tread further and further down this path, delving more into magic and _enjoying_ himself. Resurrecting Graham had been a happy accident for him; but Cora? It had been planned, it was an experiment—and it seemed to be accomplished with relative ease.

Having that kind of power—manipulation of Life and Death—wasn’t good for anyone. Especially not a fifteen-year-old kid. And _especially_ not a fifteen-year-old kid who’d felt helpless and sidelined his whole life. 

“You know what?” Graham cleared his throat, his voice sounding much higher than usual. “Let’s get out of here. I-I don’t feel like working right now.”

Emma widened her eyes as he stood up, shuffling papers back into folders. “Are you—serious?” she asked, incredulous at the thought that _Graham_ would skip work. “Leave the station, in the middle of morning?”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Graham scoffed, a nervous laugh in his throat. “The town can handle itself for a couple hours—we’re allowed a cup of coffee, we’re only human. In fact—I’ll do you one better. Let’s you and me skip down to the White Rabbit, grab a few shots.”

“Shots?” Emma echoed, following him nonetheless and pulling on her jacket. “Is the bar even open now?”

“Ruby will open it, if I ask,” Graham said with quiet confidence, avoiding her gaze as he zipped his jacket. “She’s…kinda got a thing for me.”

Emma snorted. “Yeah, but she knows you’re—” _Gay,_ was her next word, but she caught herself just in time. Last time she and Henry had asked after his relationship with Whale, he’d gotten all uncomfortable and red-faced and sensitive. Even now, he narrowed his eyes at her, daring her to finish that sentence.

“Know I’m _what?_ ” he said jerkily. “Shagging my roommate?”

“Wha—? I didn’t say that!” Emma sputtered.

“Because I’m _not,_ all right?” he snapped. “There is nothing going on between me and Victor, and I’d appreciate it if people stopped asking me about it and implying that we’re anything more than—than what we are! Victor’s a great guy, and he’s a good friend, but does everything have to be about _sex_ with you people? God!”

He turned on his heel and stormed out, leaving Emma to stare after him with wide eyes. 

“Oh, wow,” she said to the empty room. “That was…reactive.”

On that emotionally charged note, she walked down the hall, keeping a safe distance behind him. Idly, she wondered if anyone would be up for starting a Graham-and-Victor pool, betting on when they would finally banged. 

 _Three months?_ she guessed. Three months, tops.

* * *

 

 _Tap….t-t-tap…t-t-tap…_  

His pencil drummed a steady, impatient rhythm on the desk; Sister Astrid’s mouth moved animatedly, but he couldn't hear a word she was saying. The entire world around him was muted and blurred, only the sound of the pencil tapping distinct, as he stared at the steadily blackening mark on the desk; little graphite crumbs breaking off with every _tap_ as thoughts circulated his mind.

 _Tap._ He’d just resurrected his psychotic witch-queen grandmother.

 _T-t-tap._ He had a meeting after school to discuss a dragon queen’s resurrection. 

 _T-t-tap._ He had a meeting after his after-school meeting with Rumple to discuss business card layouts and where to set up an office, because he couldn't very well run a resurrection business out of his bedroom. 

“…which led to _what,_ Mr. Mills?” Astrid’s sensible shoes stopped at the side of his desk. He could feel her eyes on him, boring into his skull. Henry looked up, feeling rather annoyed that she’d disturbed his scheming.

Astrid smiled coolly, apparently satisfied in catching him unprepared. “Which led to _what,_ Mr. Mills?” she repeated.

They were both perfectly aware he had no idea what she was talking about; and yet, here they were…dancing the dance, the teacher-student dance that had endured for centuries— possibly dating all the way back to the days of Socrates. 

Henry tapped his pencil a few more times, eyeing Astrid with as much obvious disdain as he dared. “I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” Astrid let out a disapproving sigh, and shook her head as she made her way back to the front of class. “You know, it’s awfully difficult to learn when you don’t listen to the lesson…”

 _Alas, if only I cared,_ Henry thought dryly, going back to his pencil-tapping as Astrid’s voice faded into white noise. 

It was getting harder and harder to really care about school. He was already failing English; soon to be failing History; and yet…? _Meh._ Life was a lot more interesting with magic; and magic was a lot more interesting since he was good at it.

Maybe he could learn more. Maybe he could extend his powers past resurrection, and learn the sort of powers Rumple and Regina hd. It was in his blood, and he was smart enough that the years of study would be well worth the effort. He could end up being _really_ fucking powerful—

“I’ll be wanting to see you after school, Mr. Mills,” Astrid called, her voice carrying over the sounds scraping chairs and clattering books as everyone prepared to leave. Henry looked around in surprise, having not even realized class had ended. Did he really doze off for that long, or had it been a lot later than he thought?

“Mr. Mills?”

“Yeah, yeah….cool.” He batted a hand at Astrid, vaguely agreeing to meet her after class, and started gathering his stuff together. Violet hovered at the desk beside him, holding her backpack strap in one hand as she waited for him. 

“Did you even _do_ the paper?” she asked, somewhat disapprovingly.

“Kinda-sorta, I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Why, is it a big deal?”

“Quarter of your grade.”

“ _Oh, no_ ,” he gasped mockingly. “So worried!” He shot her half a smile, which she didn’t return.“Vi, relax, it’s all good—”

“It’s not all good, Henry,” Violet frowned, setting a brisk pace out of the room: not too fast for him to keep up, but just enough that he knew she was pissed. “My parents aren’t going to let me hang out with you, if they find out how much you’ve been slacking off.”

“I had no idea they were so invested in my future.”

“They’re invested in _mine._ And if they think you’re a bad influence, they’re going to—” Violet sighed, coming to stop in front of her locker. “Look, I’m supposed to be a doctor one day. They take school _really_ seriously, and if you’re not even making an effort…”

“I literally don’t see why my education concerns them,” Henry said flatly, leaning his shoulder against the adjacent locker as he watched her twirl her combination lock. “Seems like that’s something for _my_ parents to lose sleep over.”

Violet glanced at him, as though she’d’ve quite liked to hit him then; but she didn’t say anything more about it, instead turning back to her locker with a resigned exhale. “Whatever,” she said. “Do what you want, it’s your funeral.”

“Yup,” Henry said, already losing interest. “Hey, so—you doing anything this weekend? I’m trying to stay out of the house as much as possible to avoid the adults, and I was thinking—”

“Can’t.” Violet slammed her door shut, and brushed past him. “Shopping for my _quinceañera_ dress.”

“Ah.”

“You’re still invited, by the way. You know—” Violet gave a little shrug, feigning indifference—“if you’re not too busy raising the dead and taking over the world.”

 _The fuck…?_ Henry frowned, feeling more than a little irritated with her. Why did _she_ suddenly care? No, but seriously—what the hell? 

“You know what, maybe I can’t come after all” he called after her as she walked away. “I’ll try to move some things around, but I can’t promise anything!”

Violet turned around, a mirthless smile on her face, and spread her arms. “Whatever you want, man,” she said. “I really don’t care.”

“Great,” Henry shrugged.

“Awesome.”

“ _Fantastic.”_

“Whatever.”

Henry rolled his eyes, scoffing as Violet stalked away. _Clearly_ just looking for an argument, so why did he care again? Oh, that’s right—

_He fucking didn’t._

* * *

 

“He should have been here by now,” Cruella sniffed, looking up from her diamonds-encrusted watch. “It’s past three.”

“Regina promised us,” Ursula growled. Her narrowed eyes darted around the diner, searching. “I never thought I’d be _anxious_ to see that kid, but where the hell is he?”

“He better not be trying to play us,” Lily muttered, her gaze trained on the door, as if by mere willpower, she could force him to materialize. “If he’s making us wait on purpose…”

It would be such a Henry-thing to do—which was exactly why Lily did not _care_ for Henry: he was an insufferable, entitled little bastard who was far too aware of his own value, _and_ looked entirely too much like his father—who she also didn't care for. 

Neal hadn't done anything _specifically_ offensive to her, nor she to him, but it seemed an unspoken understanding existed between them: they would never be friends, or even friendly. Emma dangled between them, the inspiration behind their rivalry…though she wasn't quite as “on the fence”, as Lily would have liked. Actually, she wasn't on the fence, at all: she was firmly planted on Neal’s side, which made Lily hate Neal all the more.

“Are you all right, darling?” Cruel asked, lifting her eyebrows over her martini glass. “You’re growling again.”

Lily shook her head dismissively. “I’m fine, I’m just…thinking about stuff.”

“Hmm,” Ursula mused, exchanging a significant look with Cruella.

“Don’t _hmm,_ ” Lily said exasperatedly. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh—” Cruella tutted—“now, now, darling, there’s no reason to be embarrassed. First loves are never easy to get over.”

Lily exhaled through her teeth. 

“Look at your mother,” Cruella went on, gesturing toward Ursula. “ _Centuries_ since her first love broke her heart, and she still hates him with a burning passion! Not that I don’t love your passion, my love,” she added, stroking her finger along Ursula’s jaw. “But I _do_ wish you would put it to better use.” She turned her head, eyes dropping as she sniffed, “I hate the thought of you wasting it on that diseased pirate.”

“That’s not passion,” Ursula reassured her. “Hating Hook is effortless, I waste no energy on him at all.”

“I wish you wouldn't waste your thoughts, either,” Cruella continued to pout. “When you could be thinking about other things…putting that wild imagination to some sort of functional use…”

Lily closed her eyes: she’d been relatively old when Cruella and Ursula had adopted her, but they still embarrassed her as much as any overly sexual parents would their children. “Keep it PG, guys,” she warned them. “We’re in public. _Hands where I can see them,”_ she added, pointing sternly at them. 

Ursula reluctantly removed her hand from Cruella’s leg and put it on the table. Lily raised her eyebrows at Cruella; who let out a huff, and also dropped her perfectly-manicured hands next to Ursula’s.

“Thank you.” Lily leaned back in her seat and exhaled, glancing toward the door, willing it to open—

It startled her when the bell rang out, announcing a new customer. For a second, she almost thought _had_ somehow conjured Henry, but when she looked up, it was to see…

Not Henry,

“Afternoon!” Rumple beamed, sweeping a ludicrous, fluffy hat off his head and shaking the snow off his coat. “Coffee, Mathilde?”

The old woman (whose given name was _not_ “Granny”, Lily realized with a start) gave a polite nod, and grabbed the carafe to fill a cup. Rumple accepted it with a quiet, “Ah, thanks”; took a sip, gagged, and continued drinking as he drifted over to the table.

“How are you, ladies?” he asked pleasantly, pulling out the chair opposite them. “It’s a lovely day, isn't it?”

Lily raised her eyebrows. If Rumple considered dirty snow and temperatures hovering around the negatives a “lovely day”, he was either insane or living in the Enchanted Forest had been even more hellish than she’d imagined. 

“Terrible coffee,” Rumple remarked cheerfully. “Why are we meeting here? Jefferson’s place is much better, and Ruby always gives me free peanuts.”

“Because we’re meeting with _Henry,_ and I’m not getting in trouble with the sheriff for taking a minor to a bar so you can have complementary peanuts,” Lily said witheringly. 

“Apparently, there’s _laws,_ ” Cruella added, rolling her eyes at the height of ridiculousness she had to deal with. “Something about underage drinking or some such nonsense—in _my_ day, drinking was more essential to socialization than talking.”

“I’m sure when you were involved, it definitely was,” Rumple muttered; then cleared his throat importantly. “No matter, no matter…Henry should be along soon, the boy’s got schooling to sort out. But there’s no reason we can’t simply enjoy each other’s company in the meantime!” He smiled around at them all, showing off pointy teeth. “How’s your day going? Good?”

Ursula lifted her eyebrows. “You’re in a good mood,” she observed wryly. “Miss this sort of thing, do you?”

“What sort of thing?” Rumple asked, raising his eyebrows over his cup. 

“You know….” Cruella drawled, leaning back in her seat, placing a long finger against her temple as she regarded him. “Making deals. Dark magic. Charming smiles masking malicious words.”

“Little Belle’s been keeping you on your toes, making you behave yourself for so long…” Ursula added. “You don’t miss the business?”

Rumple’s smiled wavered. “Of course, I miss it, but… well, Belle and Neal, they…They’re looking out for me, you see. It’s for the best.”

“And pushing your grandson into it is also for the best?” Cruella asked innocently.

“Henry makes his own decisions.”

“But I can’t imagine the boy’s father is very pleased about his son following in your footsteps,” Ursula suggested with a side glance at Cruella.

Lily watched in fascination as they worked together, silently anticipating the other’s words, creating a poisonous haze of insecurity and malice around him—like two snakes winding steadily around a man’s neck. What their purpose was, she had no idea: maybe they wanted to torment him, maybe they were just bored. Either way, it was almost elegant the way they coiled around him, hissing in his ear. 

“From what I’ve heard, there’s still some bad blood between you two,” Cruella went on. “Suspicion…doubt….”

“All in the past,” Rumple said, looking steadily more unsettled. “Neal understands—”

“And Belle?” Ursula cut in sweetly. “She’s understanding, as well? No worries about you being tempted back to your old ways?”

Rumple frowned slightly, as though with growing realization; he sat back in his seat, eyeing the two of them frostily. “Belle will _kick my ass,_ if I try anything,” he said. “She won’t let me use magic, period—she won’t even let jinx Hook. And as for deal-making and charming smiles, I’m still a _lawyer_ , so believe me, dearie—any time I get the urge to legally con someone out of everything they own, I can.” He straightened his tie superfluously, lifting his chin with a sniff. “Villainy was giving me wrinkles, anyway.”

“Being three hundred years old was giving you wrinkles,” Lily couldn’t help snorting. 

“ _Two hundred seventy one,_ ” Rumple corrected coldly. “And I still look a damn sight better than you, sweetheart.”

Lily flicked her eyes in derision as her mothers _tsk_ ed their agreement, and started picking up her ponytail and touching her jacket, murmuring little comments like, “Perhaps if you did something with your _hair…”_

“You know who’s got great hair, though?” Rumple said thoughtfully, pointing a finger. “Graham Humbert. Graham Humbert has got some _great_ hair.”

“Mmm, I love those curls,” Cruella said, shaking her head. 

“The rest of him’s not so bad, either,” Ursula chuckled, and nudged Cruella. “Those arms…”

“Those abs—”

“—that _ass,”_ Rumple finished. 

“And moving on,” Lily said loudly, getting rather annoyed with the pointless tangents. “How long do you think Henry’s going to be at school?”

“Patience,” Rumple soothed. “He’ll be here. He’s very eager to enter the business world of magic, he wouldn't miss this.”

“I hope he hasn't set his little heart on _too_ much business,” Cruella said, arching an eyebrow. “You remember New York, darling? How we agreed that Henry would bring Mal back in exchange for us not ruthlessly inflicting our tempers on the town?”

“I _do_ remember…I did _not_ tell Henry, though…” Rumple twitched his mouth to the side regretfully. “Probably should have done that, earlier.”

“He’s not going to give us any trouble over it,” Lily said, folding her arms; daring him to disagree. 

“No….no, I’ll see to that,” Rumple mused. “I don’t expect he'll be thrilled, but he’s fifteen. He’ll jump at the chance to have something else to bitch about.” He flicked a small, reflective smile. “He reminds me of Bae at that age. Neal, that is,” he added for Lily’s benefit.

Lily smiled mirthlessly. “Why does that not surprise me…”

“A little bit more power-hungry, than I remember…That quality seemed to skip a generation, Bae never had much trouble resisting the lure of magic.” He paused. “But Lord, the _attitude_ on that child—couldn’t go five minutes without being a smartass!”

“We’ve all got our demons,” Cruella sighed, adjusting her furs. “I myself am overly fond of martinis. And watching my dogs rip people to shreds.”

“I’m petty as fuck,” was Ursula’s contribution. “I’ll literally do anything out of spite.”

They all looked at Lily, who looked back, mystified.

“What, my turn?” she asked, pointing to herself.

“It’s only polite,” Rumple shrugged. “We’re all talking about our flaws, you might as well toss something in there.”

“What does this have to do with finding my mother?” Lily said exasperatedly. 

“Nothing,” Rumple said, picking up his coffee for another swig. “We’re just killing time until Henry gets here. Something you should know about this town, dearie: about ninety percent of what we do is waste time. You know—” he waved his hand, shrugging—“drinking coffee.  Slut-shaming each other. Watching T.V. and fighting over the remote. Almost none of it is spent on anything epic, like resurrection. So in the waiting time in between…”

“You small-talk.” Lily stared in horror, wondering if perhaps she’d missed Storybrooke and sank right into Hell. “Fuck me.”

Rumple _tch_ ed. “Not if you paid me.”

 

* * *

Emma stared morosely at the grilled cheese in front of her, slumped in her seat as she picked at the crust without actually eating it. Graham’s temper had _not_ abated, not in the least: he maintained his bitchiness the whole way to the White Rabbit, transforming briefly to persuade Ruby to open the bar “a _teensy_ bit earlier? Because it’s been an overwhelming sort of day already—oh, really? Oh, thank you, _thank_ you—you’re the best, Ruby!” And after that, he’d gone right back to being mad.

So mad, in fact, that he took his drink and abandoned her at the bar, all by her lonesome; choosing instead to take up a game of darts with Will Scarlet and Keith….Whatever-His-Name-Was. 

And Emma was here, with naught but a sandwich to keep her company. She pulled at the crust, glaring at the steadily solidifying melted cheese. _Gross._

“No good?”

She raised her eyes at the sound of Ruby’s voice: the bartender-slash-waitress (or was it waitress-slash-bartender?) stood with her palms flat on the counter, a sympathetic look on her face: totally prepared for the old _confiding in the bartender_ schtick. 

Which was excellent, because Emma really needed a bartender to confide in right now. She was miserable, and she wanted to complain. She’d lost her keychain…had pissed off her not-gay-but-come-on-totally-gay partner… was still trying to shake off that nightmare…

“Emma?”

“I’m fine,” she sighed, shoving the plate away, and rested her chin on her fist dejectedly. “Actually, I’m not fine. I’m depressed.”

“About what?” Ruby prodded (though she didn’t sound concerned enough, she was going to have to work on that). “Did you have a fight with Neal?”

“No, we’re good, we’re good, it’s just…” She closed her eyes, trying to find a way to summarize all her problems without dictating a novel. “ _Eh.”_

“You miss him?” 

“Something like that.”

“ _Oh…_ ” Ruby arched an eyebrow, a knowing smile unraveling on her face. “I see. You _miss_ him.” She put her hands on her hips, _hmm-hmm_ ing. “Been a while, Sheriff?”

“No—” Emma gave her an exasperated look. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Hey, you don’t have to be embarrassed, girl, I get it,” Ruby grinned. “He’s super hot, and you got needs.”

“I wasn’t talking about—”

“You’re frustrated, you’re lonely—probably had an entire bottle of wine to yourself every night he’s been gone—”

“Ruby—”

“And isn’t it a _bitch?_ ” Ruby went on, apparently not hearing her. “I mean, when I tell you I get it, _believe_ me—I get it. Like, don’t get me wrong, dating a neurotic, codependent, alcoholic pirate is a nightmare and a half, but I’ll say this for him: he knows what he’s doing.”

“Okay!” Emma said loudly. “Time to close the sharing circle!”

Ruby looked up with a frown. “Pardon?”

“The sharing circle of sexual frustration? Shut it down. I’m not listening to this, not today.” 

The waitress-slash-bartender looked rather offended, but Emma couldn't find it within herself to care. Between her teenage son turning into a supervillain and the growing zombie population—not to mention, the recent loss of her most prized possession— she didn't have _room_ for “Ruby’s sexual frustration” on her list of concerns. 

“Now,” she continued, clearing her throat, “if you don’t mind, I’d like another drink—something strong.”

“Hmm.” Ruby smiled mirthlessly. “Isn’t that a damn shame, my bar’s suddenly closed.”

“Oh, come on!” Emma snapped as Ruby sauntered off, leaning over the counter to yell after her. “Ruby, you can’t close the bar just because I don’t feel like girl-talking! This isn't how you run a business!”

Ruby tossed a smirk over her shoulder, and walked off, every guy glancing up to watch her leave—which Emma would have called _leering,_ if she didn't know that Ruby would have considered that a accomplishment. Ruby had dressed as scantily as she dared at the diner, and now that she was working at the far less family-friendly White Rabbit, she was taking full advantage of the lax dress code: the less clothes she wore, the more tips she gathered. 

Emma sat back in her chair, scoffing. She didn’t judge Ruby for her slutty-bartender routine—after all, she was an adult, and she _did_ have the body of an Elf-Princess-Warrior-Whatever from Henry’s video games—but abusing her position of power over the alcohol to _punish_ Emma for not listening to her relationship woes? That was messed up. When she came to the bar, Emma assumed she was also paying for the pseudo-counseling the bartenders were supposed to offer.

“I’ll be speaking to her supervisor about this,” she muttered, deciding she had _plenty_ of room on her list of concerns for pettiness. 

She pulled her phone out of her pocket, checking to see if Neal had tried to call her back; cursing when all she saw was a text that read: _Call you in a few hours, I’m dealing with a bad case of Killian Jones’s man-pain._ No one had time for Hook’s man-pain! Why was this even an issue? Just because they were best friends, that didn't mean Neal had to be constantly on-call for emotional support and suicide prevention! 

“We need new friends,” she exhaled, pushing her phone away. Hook was a great third wheel (fantastic recipient for insults, and attractive enough to hang out with), but he was more trouble than he was worth. If only she could get Neal to agree to “breaking up” with him…

“Well, don’t you look chipper today!”

She looked up, startled to see Robin on the stool next to her. “Hey,” she blinked. “R-Robin, I totally didn't see you there.”

“That’s because I sat down two seconds ago,” he explained with a shrug. “Mind if I join you?”

“Go for it,” she shrugged.

“Thanks.” Robin exhaled, and leaned over the counter, drumming his hands as he waited for Ruby to come by for his order. He was dressed more formally today, Emma realized, frowning at the green-tinted blazer he wore: still very _Robin,_ wth the perpetual “woodland” theme, but missing his ratty scarf and hobo-vest. 

“You look nice,” she offered finally.

“How’s that?”

“Nice,” she repeated, gesturing at the blazer. “You look nice today, what’s up?”

“Heard Regina’s mother was back in town, wanted to make a good impression,” he said shortly. “But with everything I’ve heard about her, I’m going to need a few shots of courage to get through it.”

“Mmm,” Emma agreed. 

“Of course, this could all be for nothing,” he added with a rueful smile. “Regina seems intent on keeping us apart. I’ve called her three times, she won’t pick up…I think she might be embarrassed of me.”

“Maybe she’s protecting you from Cora,” Emma said, lifting an eyebrow. “I mean, she _is_ a crazy, narcissistic bitch with the powers of darkness at her disposal.”

Robin looked at the ceiling, smirking. “To which are you referring?” 

“ _Sassy._ ” Emma pulled back with wide eyes, surprised. “I’m sensing some bitterness, Loxely.”

“Long story, just…” Robin shook his head. “Never mind.”

Emma nodded slowly, not knowing how to respond. “Well, you look nice, anyway,” she said lamely. “Nice…blazer. Very you.”

“Thank you,” Robin smiled, adjusting the collar. “Or rather—thank Hook and Ruby. I bought it using my winnings from the last pool.”

“Oh, you lucky bastard,” Emma grinned. “There was this pair of boots I had my eye on, but…” She sighed, shaking her head regretfully. “I should have had more faith in those sluts. I only gave them three days, they lasted _way_ longer this time around.”

“I just hope they get back together soon,” Robin remarked. “I blew half my money on Christmas presents this year, I _need_ that pool.”

“What pool?” an interested voice asked from the counter. Emma and Robin turned around: Ruby coming toward them, taking out her notepad for Robin’s order. Her mascara-rimmed eyes roamed over Robin’s blazer, an appreciative smile etched on her face.

“Mmm, you look pretty,” she purred. “What’s the occasion?”

“Er…” Robin blinked, evidently surprised by Ruby’s attention. “I’m meeting people.”

“People, huh?” Ruby put a hand on her hip, smiling flirtatiously. “And you’re all nervous…That’s so cute. You want a drink to settle your nerves, sweetie? I know you like your cosmopolitans.”

Robin ignored the withering look Emma slid him, and shook his head. “How about something a little stronger?” 

“I can do that,” Ruby nodded, jotting something down. 

“I wouldn't mind a drink,” Emma added, looking over Robin’s head. “Put it on my tab, and double it—I’ll have what he’s having.”

“ _He’s_ having one of my special cocktails,” Ruby said, not looking up. “And _you_ are having whatever you can get out of the vending machine. And no,” she said, anticipating Emma’s next words, “Jefferson doesn't care, so you can make as many complaints as you want—I’m not getting sacked.”

Emma blew out a frustrated breath, dropping back in her seat. Robin looked over curiously as Ruby clattered around, fixing his drink.

 _What did you do?_ he mouthed.

_Nothing._

Robin glanced at Ruby, who was very pointedly looking at Emma as she fixed _one_ drink; he switched his gaze to Emma, who was glaring at the waitress-slash-bartender; then lifted his hands in surrender, giving up on dissecting the battle of female wills.

“There you go,” Ruby smiled, sliding a glass over to him. “Drink up, babe.”

“Thank you…” Robin tilted his head, squinting at the dark red drink. “Erm—what is it, exactly?”

“ _Strong._ ” Ruby winked, propping herself up by her elbows as she leaned across the counter, still smiling. “A splash of cranberry and something from the Devil’s liquor cabinet. You’ll love it.”

“Sounds exotic.” Robin sniffed it experimentally. “Won’t kill me, would it? You’re used to mixing drinks for someone whose liver is _far_ more resilient than mine.”

“He really should be dead by now,” Emma said (something she’d said about Hook several times before, actually). “Other than being two hundred something years old, the sheer amount of alcohol in his system should have killed him. by now.”

“You would think,” Robin mused, still looking apprehensive about his drink. “Actually, considering all the dangerous trouble he gets into, he should have died a long time ago. But he’s survived, out of pure spite, I shouldn't wonder…” He trailed off, glancing down at his phone rang. “Oh, look at that,” he murmured, raising his eyebrows. “Speak of the devil, and he shall appear—on your Caller I.D., no less.”

Emma wrinkled her nose as he put the phone to his ear, tossing out a lazy greeting:

“Hook, you old bastard, how are you?…Yes, yes, I presumed as much.” Robin picked at a loose string, looking faintly bored as Hook’s electronically-pitched accent bitched at him. “Ah, I see…right…I’m fine, I’m fine—Roland misses his Uncle Killy, but— _”_

 _“Stop calling me that!”_ Hook’s voice carried, so loudly even Emma heard it. Robin laughed, shaking his head at the amount of contempt Hook carried for that child.

“Oh, you _really_ are a bastard, aren’t you?” he chuckled. “Going straight to Hell, and riding with the windows down. Ah, well…No, I’m at the bar, hanging with Emma—you want to talk to her?”

“No!” Emma hissed, looking at him incredulously. “Are you fucking crazy? I don’t want to—!”

 It occurred to her that Hook was probably with Neal, and she’d been trying to get ahold of Neal for the past few hours, to update him on all the disasters going on and possibly seek a little comfort. “Actually, you know what, give me the phone,” she said, gesturing. “Let me talk to him.”

Robin passed her the phone, and went back to summoning courage to test his drink; Emma allowed herself time for a grimace before putting the phone to her ear, and saying briskly, “Let’s make this as painless as possible—”

“Ugh— _Swan?_ No, thank you, it’s too early for your voice. Put Robin back.”

“I don’t want to talk to _you,_ ” Emma said witheringly. “Is Neal there?”

“If you want to talk to Neal, call Neal,” Hook scoffed. “What are you bothering me for?”

“He hasn't called me back, and since he’s usually with you—”

“Why do you need to talk to Neal?” Hook interrupted. “Because if it’s going to stress him out, you can’t talk. I need him in a good mood, I _hate_ dealing with stressed-Neal.”

“There’s a thing that happened wth Henry,” Emma said evasively. “And it’s sort of a parent-to-parent discussion, not a parent-to-weird-friend discussion.”

Hook was quiet for a moment, considering. “ _Tsk…_ I can tell him to call you, but he’s arguing with a guy over a space right now.”

“Damn it.” That could last forever. “All right, forget it, I’ll just tell him later. Bye, slut—I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait, before you go—!”

“ _What,_ oh, my God, what do you want?” Emma exhaled, as though he were doing her a great inconvenience.

“Could you, uh…could you tell Ruby something for me?” And without waiting for a response: “Could you tell her I miss her, and that…that my head hurts more when it’s not been smashed against a picture frame?”

Emma crinkled her brow. “What?”

“It’s a thing, she’ll understand,” he dismissed. “Can you just tell her?”

“What does that _mean?_ You want me to smash your head into a picture frame, buddy? ‘Cause I don’t mind, I’ll gladly—”

“NO,” Hook said immediately. “I never want you and me dealing with picture frames, that’s just—just—no, ugh, please, Swan, never speak of such things!”

“You’re a freak,” Emma decided. “Archie is wasting his time on you.”

“Time better spent pulling apart that God complex you’ve got?” Hook retorted. “Will you tell her what I said, yes or no?”

“Fine,” she said with a sidelong look at Ruby, who was encouraging Robin as he choked and sputtered over her concoction.

“And tell Robin he’s the best, and give him a hug from me.”

“Fine.”

“And another one from Neal.”

“Two hugs for Robin,” Emma said, raising her voice some for the others’ benefit (Robin smiled, despite looking rather green; Ruby raised her eyebrows, apparently waiting for her message). “I’m going to tell Roland his Uncle Killy says ‘hi’, too.”

“ _Don’t,_ Emma!” Hook said sternly. “Don’t you dare encourage that child! You know how I feel about small children!”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Bye, slut.”

“Emma—!”

She hung up, sliding the phone back over to Robin. “Hugs from Hook, and you’re the best,” she exhaled, stealing his drink. “Hug from Neal, no comment— _GAH!”_ She coughed, choking as Ruby’s hellish cocktail burned down her throat. “The fuck is that?!”

“‘Lucifer’s Kiss’,” was the prompt reply. “I invented it. Good, huh?”

“It’s—! Well, actually, yeah, it’s pretty good,” Emma agreed, as the aftertaste settled in her mouth. She took another sip, gagging and choking again, her eyes watering; Ruby watched, pushing a rag around the counter.

“So, um…” She cast her eyes down, feigning indifference. “Did…?”

“Yeah,” Emma said hoarsely, massaging her throat. “Totally forgot what he said, but I’m sure it was stupid. Can I have another?”

Ruby grimaced at the empty glass, and threw the rag over her shoulder. “Only ‘cause I need to practice making it,” she said, and started mixing the cocktail with jerky movements. 

Emma smiled, and glanced over at Robin. “Drinking buddy?” she offered. “Want to work up some courage to meet Cora?”

“Yes, but I think I’ll stick with the cosmopolitans,” Robin sighed. 

“Whatever you want, bro,” she grinned, feeling much friendlier with the prospect of quality drinking on the way. “Are you any good at darts?”

“Something of a master,” he admitted modestly. 

“Great.” Emma slapped the counter. “I suck. We should play a few rounds, rack up your confidence. You’ll win for sure, and I get to throw things and get drunk.”

“That kind of day?” Robin remarked, following her with his eyes she got up, tracking down a handful of darts. “Is it that bad?”

“Worse,” she said cheerfully. “So much worse.”

 

* * *

 

 

Henry poked his head into the diner, glancing around. His vision was immediately assaulted by the the excess of fur and purple snakeskin, crowded into a corner table: Cruella and Ursula, with Lily beside them, looking both bland and aggressively hostile as usual. Rumple sat across from all three, his Russian hat on the seat next to him (reserving it for Henry, no doubt), and was jabbering away about something that was clearly boring his audience to death.

“…don’t understand why he didn’t just _call_ her,” he was saying as  Henry approached from behind. “There were definitely phones around, you know, he didn’t have to write all those goddamn letters—especially with how unreliable the mail service is. I feel like Noah just wanted to be a passive-aggressive little bitch because Allie was always yelling at him and—”

“Henry!” Lily said, eyes widening as she noticed him. “Oh, thank God, you’re here!”

“Hey,” Henry said, nodding around at the other table members. Rumple immediately moved his hat, patting the seat next to him with an enthusiastic smile.

“Sit! Sit, my boy, sit! I was wondering where you’d got to!”

“Sorry I’m late,” Henry shrugged, sliding his backpack off his shoulder. “Sister Astrid wanted to talk to me about my history paper.”

Cruella exchanged a sideways glance with Ursula, probably reflecting on how sad it was that their last hope had things like history papers and gym class to worry about. Well, that was fine, that was fine…at the end of it, they needed him more than he them, so they had to maintain respect. 

“Okay, _so—_ ” he clapped his hands together, looking around expectantly—“shall we just jump into it?”

“Yes,” Ursula said before Rumple could insist that they order something, make it social. “Yes, let’s just get on with it.”

“Great.” Henry rubbed his hands together, and exhaled, preparing to deliver his brief lecture. “Okay. So, there’s a few things we need before we actually resurrect Maleficent. First things first: payment.”

“Which will be waived,” Cruella interrupted, arching a regal eyebrow. “Your grandfather made it abundantly clear that you would do this, free of charge. In exchange for us not wreaking havoc on Storybrooke.” She glanced at Rumple, a self-satisfied smirk curling her lips. “We had a verbal contract in New York.”

“Is that so?” Henry said, slitting his eyes at an innocently humming Rumple.

“It’s so,” Ursula affirmed, placing her hand on Cruella’s leg and stroking it appreciatively. “And I dare you to try and weasel out of it. “

“That was a quip, Henry,” Rumple clarified, still avoiding his gaze. “In my professional opinion, taking that dare would be a mistake.”

“We’re going to have a chat about you and your meddling later,” Henry muttered back.

“Ooh, I look forward to _that._ ”

If he lacked the ability to prioritize and/or repress feelings (i.e., anger, indignation, homicidal urges), he might have had it out with Rumple then and there because frankly, he was getting tired of this bullshit: adults assuming they could speak for him and make decisions on his behalf _simply_ because they were over the arbitrary eighteen years of age and he was not. _However,_ he _did_ have the ability to prioritize and and/or repress feelings (i.e., anger, indignation, homicidal urges), so he turned back to the others with a forced smile on his face.

 “Well!” he said brightly. “Since everyone’s decided that this one’s on the house— a discussion I was _not_ a part of, thank you—I guess we’ll skip ahead to what _else_ I need from you. As in, what I require for the actual process.” He coughed importantly into his fist. “Most of the work is done by the portal, but I need something to feed it. I’ve done this _twice_ now, and both times, I’ve had the actual, physical ashes of the person in question. Now, if you don’t _have_ the ashes…”

“It’s fine,” Rumple piped up, ignoring the exasperated look Henry shot him. “It’s the D.N.A. principle. We can use Lily’s blood or something, so long as we have something personal of Maleficent’s as well.”

“Grandpa,” Henry hissed through his teeth. “This is _my_ thing.”

“I figured it out,” Rumple muttered back.

“I don’t care! Who was the last person _you_ brought back from the dead? _No one._ Now, shut up!” He turned back to his clients, flexing a tight smile at them. “Sorry about that—ignore him. What was I saying?”

“Something about ashes,” Lily frowned. “But then Rumple mentioned how we don’t need them if we’ve got something that belongs to her—”

“—and some kind of D.N.A.,” Henry nodded; and added, gesturing at her, “Which we have.”

“But I don’t have anything of hers,” Lily said blankly. She looked at her other mothers, raising her eyebrows. “Do you guys have anything? An heirloom or keepsake or something?”

“Mmm….” Cruella looked at Ursula, squinting her eyes. “I don’t know. Did we keep anything of Mal’s?”

Ursula sucked in a breath. “I was hoping you did.”

“No,” Cruella said, flummoxed. “Darling, why would I keep anything of Mal’s? I have _much_ better taste!”

“So—wait, you guys don’t have _anything?”_ Lily switched her gaze between them, panic growing in her eyes. “You’re…you’re kidding me, right?”

Ursula and Cruella shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze; Lily’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

“Are you fucking _serious?_ ” she cried, slamming her hands on the table (the old man at the table next to them looked ‘round with a disapproving frown). “How can you not have anything of hers? If you were all such _great friends_ and you loved her _so much—!”_

“Well, it’s not like she gave us souvenirs!” Ursula snapped back. “She shot us through a portal without so much as a, ‘Good luck!’, you think we had time to ask her if we could have something for the scrapbook?”

Rumple coughed into his fist, and muttered something, prompting the others to swivel their heads around to look at him. He pretended not to noticed, examining his fingernails with an infuriating indifference. 

“Oh, dear,” he exhaled. “My cuticles are a mess.”

“He wants us to beg him,” Henry explained with a wry smile. “He’s pissed because I told him to back off, and now if we want to know what he came up with, he needs exaltation and praise. Ursula, you want to move your chair back, so we have room to get down on our knees?”

“Well, that won’t be necessary,” Rumple smirked, looking up from his nails. “Just an apology from Henry will suffice.”

 _“Tch,”_ Henry muttered in disgust, turning away. 

“No time for your adolescent scorn!” Cruella said impatiently, hammering her ring-studded fist on the time. “Apologize to your grandfather, so we can get a move on!”

Henry twisted his head to glower at Rumple. “ _Sorry._ ”

“Like you _mean_ it,” Rumple sang softly. 

“Motherfu—!” Henry clenched his teeth and exhaled as he sacrificed his pride and dignity. “I’m sorry, Grandpa.”

“That’s all right, m’boy,” Rumple beamed, chucking him under the chin. “You remind me a lot of your father, when he was a boy—I almost don’t mind the attitude, it makes me quite nostalgic…” A faraway look came over his eyes, and for a minute, he was lost in the little hovel in the Enchanted Forest—no doubt where countless villagers had died of plague or malnourishment, if not ogres. 

“Grandpa,” Henry frowned.

“Right! Maleficent…ashes…resurrection…” Rumple gave his head a little shake to clear it. “Turns out, ladies, that we don’t need anything of Maleficent’s to pair with Lily’s blood, because we actually _have_ the ashes. Well,” he added with a chuckle, “I do.”

Lily immediately held out her hand, as though she expected him to whip them out of his pocket and give them to her. Rumple snorted.

“I don’t mean, _on me,_ ” he said. “I know I’m a bit eccentric, but I don’t just go around with decomposed dragons in my waistcoat. No, no—the ashes are safely hidden,” he continued, picking up what had to have been ice-cold coffee . “And by hidden, I mean, under the library, in a little pile on the ground from when Emma slew Maleficent. Or maybe from when Hook’ s much more talented friends slew the zombified version, after Regina threw him off the cliff—I don’t know. _Point being,_ her ashes are there, and we can use those to bring back the dragon queen at your earliest convenience. Speaking of resurrected queens—” Rumple turned, oblivious to the wide-eyed looks the three women were exchanging and their feverish whispers—“Henry, I think you should spend some time with Cora. She’s only just gotten back, she’s hardly had a chance to meet you…I really want her to leave me the fuck alone, so how about dinner tonight? Just the two of you?”

Henry raised his eyebrows. “How about being drawn and quartered and left for dead?”

“Or you could have dinner with your mum, who’s very upset about the loss of her most treasured possession,” Rumple shrugged. “Or your grandparents, who are highly disturbed by the darkness emerging in their little golden boy. Or Belle, who’s likely to scratch Cora’s eyes out or take her fury out on the boy who brought her back.” He paused, tilting his head in mock consideration. “ _Or…_ dinner with Cora.”

“Nah,” Henry said, shaking his head as he got up from his chair. “I’m going to hang out at Dr. Whale’s and Graham’s. You can have dinner with Cora, and choke on it.”

“Henry—!”

“This is what you get for _meddling!”_ he hissed back; without missing a beat, he turned to the three whispering women, and said, “Text me when you’ve got the ashes. I’ve got a history paper to bullshit, and that’s going to take me a good three hours, so I gotta get going.”

“You want us to wait for you to _finish your homework?_ ” Lily said, craning her neck incredulously. Henry raised his eyebrows.

 “Yeah. I do, actually.” He shifted his backpack strap, glancing around at the adults, all of whom were regarding him with furrowed brows and questioning looks. “Look, guys, just because you have some kind of magic-related agenda, that doesn't mean that non-magic life _stops._ I still have normal stuff to do. That means, homework—”

“Nonsense,” Cruella scoffed.

“—hanging out with my friends—”

“What friends?” Rumple muttered.

“—ignoring my parents and rolling my eyes at everything,” he went on, pulling his headphones out. “I agreed to bring back your dragon lady, but I’m not going to spend my afternoon dustbusting the library for her ashes.” He clapped the headphones over his ears, and flicked a mock salute. “Later…”

It was fun, being a moody teenager, he decided, leaving them to glare after him as he sauntered out. Not as fun dealing with moody-teenager-problems, though: like half-assed arguments with his vagueish-girlfriend who he wasn’t _actually_ dating, but sort of talking to in a vague way that…? Eh, this was exhausting.

Girls were hardly important right now: magic was the exciting thing, and if Violet wanted to be a diva, she was going to have to find a new audience. He had more important things to focus on than her quinceneañera dress or whatever she was mad about. It was random and unhelpful, and it wasn't like he was _officially_ her boyfriend, anyway, so he _technically_ wasn't required to care. Magic required _so_ much energy…he couldn't really afford to waste it on stupid little mundane things, like summoning _feelings_ or being _conscientious._

No… Too much to do, to worry about things like that.

 


End file.
